


Strip Away Your Hard Veneer (And See What I Can Find)

by accol



Series: egggv [1]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Kiss, Glory Hole, Group Sex, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Safewords, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accol/pseuds/accol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p> AU, The life and times of the employees of <i>Matilda’s</i>, the premier gay club on Miami Beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta nomorerippedfuel, without whom this would never have materialized. Title from "Queer" by Garbage. Based on fictionalized portrayals in the HBO miniseries _Generation Kill_. No harm or infringement intended.

  
_ Friday _

Brad sat patiently for the first hour on the runway, but by the second hour he was fucking pissed.  The only outward sign was his white-knuckled grip on the armrest as the minutes ticked by.

He’d been up in New York for the last week at _Devil Dog’s_ filling in for Godfather’s usual guy.  Godfather didn’t give any details (“He’s in the hospital.  It is not good,” he’d rasped with finality), but the look of weary sadness in Godfather’s eyes made Brad certain that whatever it was that happened had been very bad.  Brad stepped up, no questions asked.  Restock, schedules, interviews for new dancers and a temporary manager to take over after Brad left, liquor license renewal, bartending every night for six nights straight...  He’d been so busy -- and then bone-deep exhausted -- that he hadn’t even gotten laid.  And there had been some fucking fine men in _Devil Dog’s_.

Brad had seen one particularly fine -- and familiar -- man at _Devil Dog’s_.  Someone that Brad used to fuck before Godfather moved Brad to Miami to open _Matilda’s_.  He hadn’t been Brad’s boyfriend precisely, but he had been the regular hook-up.  Good in bed.  Not too pushy about the relationship shit, which had been exactly what Brad needed at the time.  Last night Brad had gotten a fiery “I’m available right fucking now” look from across the bar, but there just hadn’t been time.  

Brad felt the tickle of something at the edge of the memory.  Loneliness, maybe.  He had been alone for a long time on purpose.  It was better that way, Brad told himself, but every once in a great while...

“Well, folks,” the airplane captain’s tinny voice came over the intercom, “It looks like we’re going to be here for at least another 30 minutes.  Then we’ll be fifth in line for take-off.  I hope to have you in Miami at.... ah... 19:35.  Until then, we sincerely apologize for the delay.  Hang in there, folks.”

Brad’s temple thumped against the plastic oval of the window frame.  He had a shift at _Matilda’s_ in -- Brad looked at his phone -- less than four hours.  Fridays were always packed and there was no way Walt could handle the bar by himself.  Walt was an extremely competent barback, easily the best one Brad had ever worked with, and Brad told him that as often as Walt looked like he needed to hear it.  (Brad enjoyed the _aw shucks_ expression Walt got when Brad gave him a compliment.)  But Walt wasn’t good enough to barback _and_ bartend on a Friday night at the most popular club on Miami Beach.  No one was _that_ good.  

Ray had called Brad ‘Doc Ock’ for running the bar by himself for a couple of weeks during the slow part of the summer last year before Walt got hired.  (“Dude, you should use at least one of your mechanical arms to jerk off.  Your tips would be better and it would make you _so_ much nicer in the post-orgasm reverie,” Ray had said.  Brad might have growled at him; he didn’t remember the details clearly.  Ray’s version of showing concern always had equal chance to earn Brad’s gratitude or Brad’s annoyance.)  It had taken almost every ounce of Brad’s concentration to stay on top of it all.  His tips had been substantially lower because he didn’t even have time to smile at the customers.  He hadn’t gotten laid _then_ either.  Fortunately Godfather had hired Walt and Brad finally had time to get his dick wet in some agreeable twink’s mouth.  

Brad huffed a tired laugh as he looked out at the gray runway.  He supposed he owed it to Walt for that reason to make a prompt showing at _Matilda’s_ tonight.  His flight should have been landing in Miami before 4:30, giving him plenty of time for some food and a shower.  A long, hot one to relax his shoulders, and a quick date with the palm of his hand to take the edge off.  Now, still sitting on the runway, Brad knew there was no way that was going to happen.  He’d have to go straight to the club from the airport.  At least working together with Walt behind the bar would mean more time for both of them to find the night’s fuck.  Maybe a twink’s mouth would be Brad’s homecoming gift to himself.  As long as Walt didn’t ask to skip out with one of his daddy bears too early, Brad should have time to find the prettiest mouth in _Matilda’s_.  

The stewardess handed him a package of pretzels.  Brad thanked her, but wished for a burrito.  Right about now, with a long night still ahead of him, Brad wanted a burrito with fucking jalapeño peppers and cheese.  Instead, he ate what he’d been given and texted Ray a terse message to tell him that he’d be late.  Within moments, Ray texted back.

_u r going to have a good nite.  or not.  either way i am going to have fun watching_

Ray Person’s pep talks:  the stuff of legends.  Ray needed a boyfriend; that would definitely help.  If he would just stop mooning over Walt and get himself laid.  Brad had seen Ray turn down men of every type if he even glimpsed Walt in the same zipcode.  It was getting pathetic.  Brad’s phone buzzed again.

_u will see when u get here what i mean_

As if Brad needed another thing to make this long week even longer.

 

 

****

_ The previous Tuesday afternoon _

“The last guy you hired was a catastrophe of epic proportions,” Ray said.

Sixta made some grunting, disapproving noise, but Godfather held up his hand and Sixta momentarily backed down.

“Dude, I _will_ be at the auditions even if you think that’s me pissing on your tree.  Someone has to police your shit,” Ray said, punctuating his words by pointing at Sixta accusingly.  Then he turned his finger to himself.  “Your boy Ray-Ray here makes fuckhot music that brings all the boys to Godfather’s motherfucking yard.  The dancers gotta provide a fuckhot show to close the deal or why would I even bother?  We cannot fuck ourselves over by hiring dudes who dance like they’re missing toes.”  

Sixta interrupted Ray’s rant with a withering look.  “Zip your lips, Person.  That last boy was clean and had his shirt tucked in like a respectable man.”

“First of all, this is a dance club, not a goddamn missionary,” Ray said, looking at Godfather for support.  “The dancers aren’t even going to be _wearing_ shirts unless Doc himself puts them on ‘em.  Second of all, this is a goddamn gay motherfucking d-i-s-c-o _DISCO_.”

“Congrat-chee-lations, Mr. Person, you can spell,” Sixta answered in his Florida panhandle, swamp tromping, gator fucking accent.  (That had once been Ray’s description of it when Ray had been marveling that Sixta ever got laid once guys heard him talk.)  “I don’t care if you thinks I’m the squarest fag in all of Miami.  I _knows_ what I’m goddamn doin’.  I don’t wants addicts in Godfather’s eeemploy, so these boys are going to be c-l-e-a-n _CLEAN_ .  There will be no fuck-ups.  Fur-thee-more, we gots to satisfy _all_ the potential customers.”  Sixta started enumerating the dancers on his fingers.  “One, them muscle queens love Rudy.  Two, Q-Tip looks like a goddamn rentboy.  Three, Walt.  I knows I don’t have to say anything else to _you_ about that boy and his cowboy hat.  Four, those college boys are droolin’ like they done lost their brains over Lilley.  Five, Brad’s the alpha.  Boy is likes a magnet for the best pieces of ass in a 200 mile radius.  And six, those degenerates that like art fags gots your scrawy ass to look at.  We _needs_ us a twink.  That last guy was a twink, regardless of whether you thought he could dance to your goddamn seen-co-pated bullshit.”

“You two are going to do this together.  Make it happen,” Godfather rasped, leaving them there to sort it out.

Ray sat down at the table with a pissed off and resentful Sixta.  He was an ugly motherfucker that Ray suspected was just sticking around _Matilda’s_ to troll for easy tail, but Sixta was completely correct about their need for a twink.  Twinks were fucking popular, and _Matilda’s_ needed one for a go-go dancer.  Ray just wanted one that could actually move his ass to a good beat until all the audience could think about was fucking it.  Ray had a reputation to uphold as the best DJ in Miami, and he wasn’t going to let this get fubared by some dumb kid from the ‘burbs that was barely weaned from his minivan-driving mother’s tit.

“You guys want a couple of beers?”  Walt called over from the bar.  He was walking in from the back, carrying a rack of clean glasses, and Ray was enjoying the flex of his biceps.  Walt was holding down the fort while Brad was in New York.  Poke had stepped up to help too, but Walt was really running the show.  He was doing a helluva job even though it was obvious he was trying hard and he was tired.  Ray could see that Walt’s usual shiny-happy thing was not as shiny or as happy, and Ray hated it.  He took the beer that Walt offered while he wondered what he could do to make it easier on Walt.  He just wanted Walt to smile more.  It kind of hurt Ray -- physically hurt -- to see Walt anything other than perfect.

Then the first guy walked in to audition.  

Ray’s mouth gaped open like a fish.  Walt was staring like they’d just won the lottery and a giant check on legs had just come through the door.  A smirk dawned on Ray’s face when Walt turned to share a look with him that said, “Holy fuck, Brad is a dead man.”

Brad could fuck anyone he was in the mood to fuck.  Ray had seen him leave _Matilda’s_ with the best of the night, any night, but he seemed to prefer the pretty ones; the kinda twinky ones.  Brad never settled down, and Brad _never_ fucked people that he worked with.  Ray _knew_ these things.  He and Brad shared an apartment and Ray was used to making a cup of GTFO coffee for Brad’s one-night stands.  He’d watched Q-Tip and Lilley both try to get into Brad’s pants a couple of times after shifts at _Matilda’s_ and they hadn’t gotten anywhere despite the fact they both had face.  

This guy that just walked into _Matilda’s_ was going to test Brad’s boundaries though.  This guy was pretty as fuck: light brown hair, fantastic mouth (so fantastic that Ray might have even forgotten about Walt for half of a second), straight nose, tall, jeans that fit his ass exceptionally well.  This guy was the best of the night, any night, any place, Ray was sure of it.  But there was something else about him... He walked in not so much like he owned the place -- this guy didn’t exude ego -- more like he could _control_ the place.  At this point, Ray didn’t even care if this guy’s rhythm was for shit.  He just wanted to watch what happened when Brad met him.  

Sixta stood up.  “John Sixta.  We spoke on the telephone.”

“Nate Fick.  Pleasure to meet you.”  Nate shook Sixta’s hand and then extended his hand to Ray.  Ray was still gaping and smirking.

Sixta took over introductions when Ray didn’t say anything.  “This surprisingly silent man is Ray Person, our DJ.”

“Nice to meet you, man.  I saw your set at the Electronic Music Festival.  That was a great show,” Nate said pleasantly.  

Nothing worked better than stroking Ray’s ego to get him to loosen his tongue.  “Yours truly, Ray-Ray, DJ extraordinaire.  The pleasure is ours, I’m sure.”  Ray looked Nate over.  Nate seemed to be expecting it.  “Let’s get to business.  I’m looking for someone who knows his way around the pole.”

Nate calmly raised one eyebrow in a way that was way too similar to Brad.  There was second of pause, during which time Ray wilted a little bit under Nate’s gaze.  Ray’s double meaning had been clearly understood, but Nate appeared as receptive to it as Brad would be.  Apparently Nate had been fully weaned from his mother’s tit.  And his eyes... fuck, Brad might as well go ahead and come in his smalls right now up in New York and get it over with.  

“I’ve been dancing since I was a kid.  Right now I do Modern Dance with a group at the University.  I haven’t danced at a club before, but I have danced in front of audiences plenty.”  Nate shifted his gaze to Sixta.  “I can provide references.”

Walt had quietly crept over and handed Nate a bottle of water.  The combo of the two of them made Ray feel like he was staring into the sun.  Nate was so fucking pretty it was making Ray’s teeth hurt.  Brad was not going to have a snowball’s chance at a lesbian orgy.  Ray was getting giddy at the thought of watching Brad disintegrate when he met this one.   

Sixta introduced Walt.  “Our barback, Walt Hasser.”  (Ray always chose to hear that as ‘bare back.’)  “He’s runnin’ things here ‘til our head bartender gets back from takin’ cares of some things at Godfather’s other establishment in New York.”

“Hi.  Nate Fick.  Thanks for the water.”

“No problem.  Let me know if there is anything I can do for you around here.  That’s basically my job.  At least until Brad gets back on Friday.  Then he will get you what you need,” Walt beamed.  Walt was talking to Nate as if Nate had already been hired.  He wondered if Walt’s “he’ll get you what you need” comment was intentional, because it was so spot on that Ray had to bite back a laugh.  Walt looked Nate up and down.  He grinned, made a conspicuous OK sign with his fingers, and retreated to the bar.  

Sixta asked Nate a few questions, presumably to judge his maturity level (through the goddamn roof, Ray thought) and to make sure he was drug-free (looked to be, and Ray knew about that kind of thing from his days on the street).  This guy must be Sixta’s wet dream:  college student tying to responsibly pay the bills and pretty as fuck.  Twinky on the outside, but Ray thought Nate would be a force to be reckoned with.  Oh God, this was going to be fun... another alpha.

Nate took a drink of water.  “So, I suppose you want a demo then?”  He looked pointedly at Ray and waited.  Ray had so much shit in his head, trying to guess if he was right about how Brad would react, that he was caught off-guard.  Just a little bit, but enough.  Ray felt like Nate was testing him in that silent way that Brad always used.  Nate’s eyebrows pushed some wrinkles into his forehead as he waited for Ray.

“Yep,” was all Ray said.  

He had queued up a few things beforehand, fairly typical tracks, and now he [hit play](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rePgHiCdJ74).   Nate took off his shirt and started to dance.  Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Nate moved in such a way that required the three of them to readjust themselves discreetly.  Walt was gaping again.  Ray felt his fingers close around his phone... he _really_ wanted to take a picture and send it to Brad.  But then a rather sinister smile rose on his face.  Ray knew he’d rather see the look on Brad’s face _in person_ when he met Nate Fick.

Sixta pried his eyes away from Nate long enough to see the look on Ray’s face.  He hired Nate on the spot.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZIJph7IHaI) for this chapter.

_ The previous Thursday evening _

Godfather leaned against the doorframe and watched her put on the last of her makeup. His eyes flicked up to an flier advertising last April’s Fleet Week show.

 

COME SEE  
 _ **Jenn R. L. Mattis and her Fly Boys**_  
at  
 _ **Bravo Cabaret** _  
DURING FLEET WEEK 2011

  
She’d been perfect that night, spot on during every second of the show. She had been the perfect ‘40s pinup complete with spit curls, backseam pantyhose, and shiny red lips.

Now she looked tired. Godfather wished they could have the night off so he could take them home and it would just be James Mattis and Stephen Ferrando, sitting on their couch, watching the moonlight across the ocean.

Finally Jenn noticed Godfather standing there, and she confirmed his suspicion.

“I’m so tired, Stephen. This thing up in New York -- that boy -- it’s too much.”

Godfather walked the last few steps over and crouched next to Jenn’s chair. He took her hands and looked long into her eyes.

“Are you ok to work tonight? We can close the cabaret and just go home. Teren and Christeson can do the show. You know they can handle it. Let me take you home,” he whispered.

“No. No, I’m fine. I need to go on. It’ll give me an hour without thinking about it. Then we can go home.”

Godfather grabbed a tissue when the tears started to well in her eyes.

“The kid is going to be fine. The hospital is keeping him for another few days, and his boyfriend’s family is wealthy. They’re taking him to the Hamptons to recover,” Godfather said, trying to reassure her.

“Stephen, don’t be obtuse. You know it’s not just the physical body that needs healing. How long has it been? Twenty-two years? Twenty-two years and I still am completely fucked up!”

Godfather pulled Jenn into an embrace. “Shhhh,” he said softly, stroking the back of her neck gently. “I know, and I love you.”

* * *

 _The previous Tuesday evening_

Q-Tip and Lilley had effectively kidnapped Nate as soon as they heard Sixta hired him. Lilley’s arm was around Nate’s shoulders and Q-Tip’s was around his waist as they dragged him down the street and into _Brunmeier’s Pub_. Nate saw the bartender’s eyebrows go up with interest when Q-Tip said something to him, pointing back at Nate. The bartender puckered his lips at Nate and then said something quietly to Q-Tip and nodded, lips smirking.

Q-Tip bought three beers over.

“Advertising on my behalf already?” Nate asked, smiling.

“That motherfucka’ wanted to know if you were available or what, so I had to clarify that you our bitch. Us _Matilda’s_ boys stick together, yo. You gotta let us know about whatevuh -- problems at work, problems with customers -- we got your back.”

Q-Tip seemed sincere. Nate chuckled and ignored the “our bitch” comment for now. “Thanks. I can take care of myself.”

Lilley clicked his tongue. “Mmhmmm. Well this ain’t no college campus, brah. The customers that come into _Matilda’s_ are intense.” He plucked at Nate’s t-shirt. Nate didn’t know why he was surprised that Lilley was coming on to him.

“You’re offering to take care of me?” Nate asked.

Lilley and Q-Tip both grinned like wolves. Lilley wiggled his eyebrows.

“Hm,” Nate said and then took a drink of beer.

Lilley looked like he had been plucked out of an Abercrombie and Fitch ad, complete with an threadbare t-shirt and a visor. He was the kind of guy who looked like he should be carrying around a football or a frisbee. Nate thought he seemed nice enough. Q-Tip seemed nice too, even though Nate found his way of talking to be incongruous with his ridiculous level of delicate prettiness. They were nice enough, but neither of them were Nate’s type. Hell, Nate wasn’t even looking. He had school to deal with, and now _Matilda’s_ , so there was no time for a boyfriend.

“I’m not really looking,” Nate said.

Lilley shrugged, but he was smiling like he was proud for having given it the old college try. “Your loss, brah.”

“Hector over there gon’ tell his boys about your debut on Friday, and the house is gon’ be packed!”

 _< <No pressure_,>> Nate thought.

“What d’ya wanna know about _Matilda’s_ , brah? We’re just here to help,” Lilley said, smiling and letting his knee thump to rest against Nate’s under the table. Nate shifted in his seat, pulling his knee away and giving Lilley a firm look.

“What’s Godfather like to work for?”

Q-Tip answered, “Godfather’s cool, but he don’t really run things. Like, not in the trenches.”

Q-Tip and Lilley looked at each other and grinned broadly. They spoke together. “Colbert.”

Lilley continued, “Brad Colbert is the one who runs shit.”

Nate assumed Brad Colbert was the bartender that Sixta said was up in New York. He nodded. “Sixta mentioned him.”

Q-Tip and Lilley looked at each other again. They both leaned in like they were about to tell Nate a secret. He humored them and leaned in also.

“Yo, Brad and Sixta don’t always see eye-to-eye, brah.”

Q-Tip clicked his tongue. “Man, that’s ‘cause Brad’s 18 feet tall and Sixta’s a troll.”

They both laughed hysterically for a moment. Nate just leaned back and waited.

“All I know is that Christeson would totally let me tap that if Brad was down, and he’s a jealous motherfucka,” Q-Tip said. “He’d come too if that’s what Brad wanted, drag or not. But Brad don’t date people from _Matilda’s_.”

“Fuck, brah. You ain’t joking. Brad’s all like a beach volleyball dude. Tan and uh uh uh,” Lilley said, grabbing the edge of the table and humping into it.

“I thought that last twink Sixta hired would do it, but Colbert don’ even look at him. Fucker couldn’t dance for shit either,” Q-Tip said.

Lilley looked at Nate and shrugged. “We both tried to get on Brad, but he’s called the Iceman for a reason. Ain’t nobody from work ever figured out that puzzle. Too bad you’re “not really lookin’” ‘cause maybe your pretty ass could finally figure him out.”

Nate ignored the last part of Lilley’s comment. “So Brad runs the day-to-day, and he’s tall and unavailable. Fine, but what is it like to work there?” Nate didn’t care about Brad Colbert’s love life. He just wanted to make sure that this was going to be a tolerable way to pay the bills. It was more important to find out what Brad’s style was since Nate was going to be working under him.

“Easiest piece in Miami,” Q-Tip said. “Shake a little ass to Ray’s phat tunes. Get paper and as many fine pieces of manmeat as we want. Fuckin’ Royale with Cheese, right there homeboy.”

Nate burst into laughter at Q-Tip’s delivery. “What else? Lilley?”

“Yeah, brah, Q-Tip said it. Money, men, music. What else is there?”

Nate smiled. They finished their beers and had another round. Nate knew what else there was: college. He just wanted the money to pay for that. He could do without the ‘men’ part for the time being.

* * *

 _Late the previous Thursday night_

Ray had his headphones jammed between his ear and his shoulder when Doc and Patterson walked into _Matilda’s_ around midnight. They looked up to nod a hello, and Ray waved them up to his booth.

“What’s up, gentlemen?” Ray already knew what was up. He could see the leather straps under Doc’s t-shirt. Patterson was holding a hand against Doc’s lower back possessively.

Patterson gave Ray a knowing look. “Just here to take a turn around the room, then home for the night. How’s the crowd look?”

Doc smirked, but didn’t speak. They were definitely doing their thing. Ray didn’t really get that scene, but he increasingly felt like he should figure out how to get his dick to respond to it.

Because Walt got off on it.

And because Ray really, really wanted Walt.

“A little thin for a Thursday. Q-Tip told me that he and Lilley took the new dancer, Nate -- you met him yet, Doc, for costumes?-- they took him over to _Brunmeier’s_ and started spreading the word about his debut tomorrow. Tried to get their dicks wet too, but they got shut down before they even started. Lilley thinks he’s going to be as icy as Brad. Personally, I figure Nate just has some motherfucking standards if he turned those two down.”

Patterson smiled knowingly. “Common sense.”

“Have you seen the kid yet? Fucking easy on the eyes. Pretty on the outside, but alpha on the inside.”

“I’ll be waiting to watch Schwetje try him, then.”

“Dude, seven Schwetje’s wouldn’t add up to the smarts in him. There is no way that Schwetje would have a chance with Nate. I met the guy for like ten minutes and I know that much.”

“That’s the part I’m looking forward to, watching him crash and burn,” Patterson smirked. He did not like Schwetje at all. Neither did Doc, who gave a matching nod with more than a hint of exasperation for having to know Schwetje at all.

“Kocher’s working the door tomorrow night, so you’ll be safe. You should be here regardless, ‘cause Nate’s debut is then. You’ll be jizzing in your big boy lawyer panties when you see him dance, but I’m gonna be watching Brad watch him,” Ray said. “Speaking of which, if you talk to him, don’t mention Nate because, dude.”

Doc had obviously already met Nate, because he turned to Patterson and nodded with a faint grin on his lips.

“That good?”

“Like baby Jesus angels in a g-string. Or whatever shit Doc dreams up to put him in.”

Doc pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak. Ray understood the look to mean something like, “You wouldn’t know an angel in a g-string if it flew over and took a crap on your head, so shut the fuck up.”

Ray continued undeterred. “Dude, all I know is that it’s gonna be packed tighter than a DP-ed fag at a gangbang in here tomorrow night. I’ve got some good shit in my pocket too,” Ray said, thumping the edge of a stack of vinyl, “So you two better show up.”

“See you then, Person,” Patterson said. Doc nodded.

Patterson guided Doc down the stairs, his hand never leaving the small of Doc’s back. They headed over toward the restrooms and Ray lost sight of them in the crowd. He did, however, clearly see Walt running his finger along the chest of some bearded, tattooed, old fucker. Creepy Old Fucker leaned in and said something in Walt’s ear, and Ray watched with horror as Walt kissed him deeply before going back to work behind the bar. Walt kept glancing over at Creepy Old Fucker with his lower lip between his teeth.

Ray felt his throat clench. He grabbed a record from the bottom of the stack and mixed in what Walt had once called Ray’s “[pussy music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZIJph7IHaI).”

****

“Inside,” Patterson said, his hand strong on Doc’s waist. Doc obediently entered the bathroom stall and put his hands at head height on the side wall.

“Very good, Tim. So good, all the time, aren’t you.” Patterson was using the voice, husky and commanding even though it was barely over a whisper. He wanted Doc to have to try hard to hear the words. “You may speak.”

“Yes, Sir. I try.” Doc loved and trusted Bryan Patterson to the end of the earth. He trusted him so much, that he got off on subbing to him and Doc had never subbed to anyone else. Ever. He and Patterson had been together for four years, since a time when BSDM didn’t even ping Doc’s radar. They were domestic as fuck by this point (even talking about adoption), but that didn’t mean they’d cooled at all when it came to this.

“Keep your hands on the wall, Tim. No matter what happens, don’t move.”

Patterson reached his hands around and rubbed Doc through his pants. Doc was already hard in anticipation.

“Fuck, Sir,” Doc moaned.

“Begging already? Let’s see then...” Patterson unfastened Doc’s pants and pulled Doc’s dick out. “Let’s see what’s on the other side of this wall,” Patterson said smoothly. A finger had appeared and disappeared, signaling a willing mouth in the adjacent stall. Patterson rolled a condom onto Doc’s dick and tugged at his balls hard. Then he pressed Doc’s erection away from his stomach and pushed him closer to the wall. He guided him to the glory hole and some anonymous man’s awaiting mouth.

Doc’s hips jerked with the feeling. Patterson’s hand was strong on the back of Doc’s neck, pushing him against the wall.

“Oh, shit!” Doc hissed. “Please let me fuck him.”

“Slowly,” Patterson ordered. Doc obeyed, swinging his hips with as much control as he could muster. The motion wasn’t smooth. Doc’s hips jerked at the feeling of a faceless tongue running over his cock.

Patterson pulled Doc’s mouth to his own and thrust his tongue inside. Doc locked his knees so they wouldn’t buckle. He could feel Bryan’s hardness against his hip. He knew he would get his ass fucked as soon as they made it back to their apartment, and that thought compounded the feelings shooting through his cock and mouth. He was moaning.

Patterson ran his teeth over Doc’s earlobe and then spoke. “You’re going to come when I tell you, but not before then. After you come, clean off and then we’re going home so I can come in your ass.”

Doc let out a whimper of excitement that was completely unlike him except when Bryan was doing this kind of thing. “Please. When?”

“Shhhh, Tim, a little bit longer. You can do it. Go right to the back of that mouth. Hard now.”

Doc squeezed his eyes shut and thrust hard, over and over. His breathing was rapid and shallow.

“Suck my fingers,” Patterson ordered in that voice.

Doc took two hungrily, wishing that Patterson was fucking him right now.

“Tim... Tim, you are so gorgeous like this. Come now.”

And Doc did. Doc’s private life and his public life were very different beasts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "Queer" by Garbage.  The [gif](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_li8p34k8iV1qd1ton.gif) that inspired the entire verse is from "Ice Cream Truck" by Cazwell.

_ Late Friday afternoon _

Godfather ran the Friday employee meeting in Brad’s absence.

“Listen up. Here are the announcements,” he rasped. Then he waited for everyone to give him their attention. This was nontrivial, since the excitement level in the dressing room was high. Chatter was loud -- gossip, snippets of off-key singing, motherfucking jumping jacks -- and Godfather was impatient to get back over to the cabaret and to James. Friday nights were always busy at the club and the cabaret, but tonight _Matilda’s_ was debuting a new dancer: one Nate Fick.

Godfather whistled shrilly between his teeth. “Take a goddamn seat,” he shouted. Everyone zipped it and sat down immediately on the benches and chairs in the dressing room.

“First, welcome Nate Fick. I expect you’ll _all_ be professional and live up to the high standard that I expect at _Matilda’s_.” Godfather eyeballed every one of them, not sparing Nate. Nate was sitting at the far end of one of the benches. The gravity in the room didn’t know whether to settle on Godfather or Nate, and the other men kept looking over at him.

Ray wondered if Godfather had a clue. Nate Fick was going to change things around here. His audition had been hot as fuck, and Ray suspected that Nate would rapidly become a crowd favorite. Maybe that would make up for the fact that he was likely to turn Brad Colbert into a junior high school girl that wanted Ray to ask Nate if they could go together. Ray drew the line at passing notes.

Godfather continued, “Second, Colbert will be back tonight. Walt, your work this week has been outstanding. Godfather is extremely happy. However, we’re anticipating a large draw for Nate’s debut due to word-of-mouth and the ads in _Wire Weekly_ and _OMG_. I know we’ll all be glad that Colbert is here to keep shit together.”

Nate felt a blush rise in his cheeks because he didn’t know about the ads. He felt kind of dumb, as a matter of fact, since Doc had a photographer come in and take some pictures of him. He just thought they were for... well, fuck. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. Now all of southern Florida knew what he looked like in a very small amount of clothing. Guess that bridge had been crossed and burned. He realized suddenly that everyone in the room had noticed his flustered expression.

“Yeah, ok, ok. Eyes back on Godfather, please.”

Nate was smiling, laughing at himself, but he was trying to hide it and stay focused on the meeting at hand. That didn’t mean he was unaware of the attention that was focused on him again. The rest of the men, including Godfather (and Sixta, who was lurking behind Godfather like one of his henchmen), kept looking at him. Nate felt their eyes tracing his face and he licked his lips. He looked around the room at them, and used one hand to point at his eyes and then at Godfather. Everyone complied.

****

Ray was walking out toward the floor of the club after the meeting when Walt pinned him against the wall of the hallway. Walt took off his cowboy hat and shielded their faces from the rest of the guys. He pressed his body close to Ray’s. Maybe it was so they wouldn’t block the whole hallway, but Ray didn’t give a flying fuck _why_ Walt was doing it. He just cared _that_ he was doing it. He was basically struck dumb with the thought that Walt might finally be coming onto him.

“We should have a plan to make sure Brad doesn’t see Nate until his dance starts,” Walt whispered. He was almost giggling.

Ray felt his cock responding to Walt’s nearness and boyish enthusiasm for this prank. He was alternately horrified that his body was betraying him and hopeful that Walt would take the not-subtle-at-all hint. He cleared the lump in his throat.

“He’s already gonna be late. I don’t think he’ll have time to go back to the apartment, so you should try to convince him to shower here,” Ray said against Walt’s freshly shaven cheek. Fuck, he was having a hard time keeping his train of thought. He put one hand on Walt’s waist because, you know, what the hell? Might as well.

Ray thought he might die of blue balls when Walt pressed him harder into the wall, inward and upward, before continuing their conversation.

“Good idea,” Walt whispered.

Walt’s lips brushed against Ray’s skin and Ray’s breath hitched. He could barely remember what he’d said that Walt might have thought was a good idea. All of his brain function had migrated to his nose (fuck, Walt smelled good) and his cock (just... fuck!).

Walt continued, “Poke is gonna be helping me behind the bar until Brad shows up. Hopefully it won’t be too busy at the beginning of the night so I can get back here and talk to him before he comes onto the floor.”

“I’ll... I... fuck... I’ll text him and find out when he’s on his way from the airport.” Every second this was getting figuratively and literally harder for Ray.

“Good,” Walt said. He had put a hand against the side of Ray’s head opposite the cowboy hat. Walt’s fingers ran along the buzzed stubble above Ray’s ear and up into the longer hair on the crown of his head, pulling him closer to Walt’s whispering mouth. “Try to delay Nate’s music until he gets behind the bar. I’ll give Brad something to do right away when he comes up front so he doesn’t look up to your booth. You should keep Nate up in there with you so you can keep an eye on him.”

Ray was breathing erratically and he had a full-blown boner that was pressing into Walt’s crotch. He had to be noticing, right? Right? Fuck.

“Ok,” Ray managed to whisper.

Walt pulled away with a sunny smile. (Ray didn’t dare to hope that Walt had regained his happy disposition because of something he had done. Or, you know, something his traitorous cock was doing right about now. It was probably because Brad was due back.) Walt ran a few fingers across Ray’s witty t-shirt of the day.

“I like this one,” Walt said, sounding completely in control. His eyes were flitting between Ray’s chest and lips. He was leaving Ray a fucked up mess as his hand traced the exceedingly apt words.

_I CAN’T EVEN THINK STRAIGHT_

Walt spun his cowboy hat back on his head. With one more coy look back, he headed up front to get ready for open.

Ray went to the bathroom because, dude.

****

Pappy was leaning in the doorway watching. He had a faint smile on his face. (The only time anyone ever saw Pappy smile broadly was when he locked eyes with Rudy.) Walt came jogging through from the front of the house, with a towel draped over one shoulder, to grab a couple bottles of booze to restock the bar. Then he saw what had Pappy’s attention and leaned against the wall next to him to watch too. Then Q-Tip and Lilley stopped in their tracks, lewd grins blossoming on their faces. Schwetje crowded into the doorway, bumping into Pappy and getting a healthy dose of side-eye for his rudeness. Then he started mouth breathing. Even Kocher wasn’t immune; he had parked himself on one of the benches with his elbows on his knees to watch. Finally, Ray came bursting out of the bathroom, still fastening his belt. He saw Walt and his face reddened, but then he saw what everyone else was staring at.

Rudy and Nate were warming up for the night by doing yoga in the middle of the dressing room. The two of them moving in sync was frankly amazing. For those watching, it was most definitely a warm up.

Rudy’s olive skin had a sheen of health. His muscles bulged and flexed under it as he moved smoothly from one position to the next. All he had on was a pair of tight, black boxer briefs and a serene expression. It was obvious why he was the reigning crowd favorite.

Next to him, moving no less smoothly but somehow more elegantly, was Nate. His arms stretched over his head, pulling his ab muscles tight. The arch of his back swooped to the dimples over his ass, visible where his shorts had ridden low.

Schwetje was breathing hard and it was unbelievably obnoxious. Still, no one stopped watching the show long enough to tell him to shut the fuck up. All of them were somewhere between hypnotized and half-hard.

“Hoo, boy!” Patterson’s voice rang through the room as he walked in with Doc. “It’s like you’ve never seen shirtless men at _Matilda’s_ before.” He shot a wink at Nate.

“Break it up, gentlemen. How about instead of warming up your cocks, you follow their example or fuck off?” Doc said, gruff as usual. His measuring tape was draped around his neck and he was carrying a handful of white cloth. His stare alone was enough to disperse the crowd.

Patterson leaned in to Doc’s ear. “I’ll be back later to see the debut.”

“Not to see me, Daddy?” Doc’s voice came out a teasing whisper.

“Nate’s dancing will just be the appetizer,” Patterson replied, nipping at Doc’s jawline. “Hopefully he doesn’t mind being the metaphorical lubricant for a club full of hook-ups tonight.” He looked Nate over and then placed a soft kiss on Doc’s lips before heading upstairs to the business office to review the legalese in some contracts for Godfather.

Nate watched Pappy speak quietly to Rudy. He felt like he had to look away when Pappy brushed his nose past Rudy’s in an sweet, intimate way that made Rudy’s eyes shine with unmistakable meaning.

“Ok, kid. Time to put on the uniform,” Doc said, interrupting Nate’s thoughts. He unceremoniously handed Nate the white cloth that was actually briefs. Very small briefs.

* * *

_ Friday night _

The cab dropped a tired, underfed, and hugely annoyed Brad out front of _Matilda’s_. He barely noticed the long line when he waved curtly at Kocher at the main door. If Schwetje had been bouncing tonight, he would have ignored him, but Schwetje was scheduled inside tonight by the VIP lounge. That was fucking fine by Brad. One less annoyance.

He went in through the back entrance, and dumped his suitcase in the dressing room. He had just noticed a new bag -- must belong to the new dancer that Sixta was planning to hire -- before Walt came running back from the bar.

“Dude! You’re back! I gotta get up front, but it’s not too busy yet so you should totally take your time.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll only be a few minutes.” Brad was relieved, although the way Walt was rushing back here to greet him made a flicker of suspicion run through his mind. It seemed... weird.

He stripped off his shirt, wanting to peel away the layer of travel grime with it. Walt was staring and smirking. Brad gave him a face.

“The drinks aren’t pouring themselves, Hasser.”

“Well, what do you expect? I’m usually too busy to appreciate the view,” Walt smiled. It was a sheepish grin, and Brad knew for a fact that Walt got a lot of cock using that exact not-really-naive-but-I’m-good-at-pretending-Daddy face.

“Branching out are you?” Brad asked, untying his shoes and eyeballing the shower stall. “I’m quite sure I don’t have enough hair or leather...”

Walt shrugged, still smirking. “I might be having some thoughts, but don’t flatter yourself, Brad. They aren’t about you.” Walt’s eyes looked into the distance past Brad’s shoulder for a couple of beats, and Brad wondered who he should be looking out for. Walt came back to reality and said, “You’ve got your usual cadre of boys out there waiting for you, plus some new ones, so you better clean yourself up nice. Remember to wash behind your balls,” he called out with a smile as he bounced back up to the front of the house.

God, Brad hoped there was some good tail out there tonight. He needed a fuck and soon. Brad stripped off his pants on his way into the shower. Enough time for a rinse to take off the recycled air from the flight. Ninety seconds, in and out. He would have liked a jack, but it wasn’t in the cards. Walt was good behind the bar, but it was Friday night and it was going to get busy fast.

****

From Ray’s DJ booth, Nate could see everything. He watched the crowd and watched Ray work them. Ray was truly fantastic at reading the crowd’s energy and driving them into peaks and valleys with his music. Ray was making Nate’s job easy. He felt his own body itching to dance.

“Soon, dude, soon,” Ray said, smirking as he saw Nate moving restlessly. “Just waiting for everyone to get here.”

Nate knew exactly who Ray meant by ‘everyone’ when _he_ walked in. Joining Walt behind the bar was a man who could be no one else but the famed Brad Colbert. Nate found himself pressing against the rail of Ray’s booth, drawn closer. He was sure that the tide of the crowd pressed toward the bar too.

Nate had been told about Brad. Q-Tip and Lilley had described him as some sort of unobtainable god; smart, fuckhot, in charge, and absolutely unavailable to the guys he worked with. Nate had quietly listened to them gush about Brad’s ability to command everyone’s attention in _Matilda’s_ , even when the crowd was supposed to be watching the dancers. It hadn’t seemed particularly important at the time. Nate figured it was all the better if _Matilda’s_ had a bartender, a DJ, and dancers that were all strong draws. Plus, Nate had somehow pictured Fabio when they had been describing Brad, all golden and ridiculously muscular. Obviously he was nothing like Fabio. His blond hair was cropped short. He was lean and athletic. He was wearing dogtags and low-slung camouflage pants and that was it. Nate’s pupils dilated and he gripped the rail hard.

Nate realized Ray was laughing. “Dude, I thought _Brad_ seeing _you_ was going to be the highlight of the night, but you’re fucked too! This is going to be so much goddamn fun.”

Nate let Ray’s comment go with a simple look and a flattening of his mouth. The last thing he needed was his coworkers matchmaking. Or betting on his sex life like it was the ponies, whatever the fuck it was that Ray was implying.

He went back to watching Brad. He wondered if Brad had an ego to match his magnetism. That would be the one thing that would sour this for Nate.

<< _Fuck.  What?  This is supposed to be a job.  Look away, Fick,_>> Nate thought, but he didn’t... or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. No one had caught his eye like this for a long time. Since way before the break-up, and that had been more than a year. It had been before he transferred to the University and tuition was why he got this good-paying job with convenient hours.

<< _So look away before you start down a road for which you don't have a map._ >>

There was a huge crush of men vying for a spot at the bar, and Brad was smiling broadly. He was obviously reveling in the attention as he worked, so confident with his hands that he barely had to watch. Nate wondered if Brad had callouses on his fingers or if they’d feel smooth when they...

Nate shook his head minutely. Ray snorted. Nate ignored him.

From here Nate could see pens writing down phone numbers to be left with generous tips on the bar. He wondered how many of them Brad would pocket; if his bed ever cooled off. Nate smirked slightly when it dawned on him. Brad worked the bar like Ray worked the crowd with his music. He was leading them on, keying them up, and getting them to lay their cash down for drink after drink.

Nate’s competitive streak flared bright. He was going to make Brad notice him. He was going to work the crowd from up here, shaking his ass until he stole the crowd’s attention back from Brad. The whole fucking place was going to want him. If he hooked up with someone from the crowd as a result, what of it? A fuck didn’t have to get in the way of his job or college. Plus, he wanted to see Brad’s reaction when he, the new guy, gave him a run for his money and Brad’s own rule kept him at arm’s length. If Brad ended up being a bitch about it, if his ego couldn’t take it, Nate would rather find out sooner than later so he could find another job.

He felt his body imagining the moves to make this happen.

Ray pulled out a record with a flourish, displaying it like a white-gloved butler. “This is your tune, homes. Gonna get the Ray Person special mix, so get your pretty ass ready to dance for those motherfuckers. Or, you know, King God Colbert himself behind the bar if that’s what’s gonna make you seduce the fuck out of the room. I don’t give a monkey’s ass. But if I don’t see at least one cock getting sucked on the dancefloor by the time this song is done, I’ll get Sixta to can you. No pressure, though.”

“Ray?” Nate asked calmly. “Fuck you. Your skinny ass better keep up.” Nate ran a hand over his own, round ass and smirked. He started to step out onto the elevated stage to the sound of Ray laughing with excitement.

****

Brad spent a few more than ninety seconds in the shower -- he really did wash thoroughly behind his balls because he fully intended to have them sucked later, plus it felt fucking outstanding to wash New York off of himself -- but he still managed to get out front less than seven minutes after arriving at _Matilda’s_. His hair was still dripping on his shoulders when he rounded the corner.

He knew his reputation, and he used it for himself and for _Matilda’s_ bottom line. That’s why he waited to buckle his belt, flexing his abs, until he was standing behind the bar. It gave the impression of availability. Brad smiled a cocky smile when a cheer rose from the crowd. He said hello to a few of the regular guys, grabbing them around the backs of their necks and pulling them close to speak into their ears over Ray’s thumping music.

Then he smiled at Walt, nodded at Poke (who wrapped up his orders and headed back to work the VIP bar), and got to work. Walt handed him a cocktail shaker.

“Couple a’ dirty martinis for the old fags,” Walt yelled over the music.

Walt pointed to Doc and Patterson, who had found a place at the bar. They had a few guys hanging off them like usual. Sometimes they picked one up, sometimes not, but there were always interested parties. Patterson’s reputation went back years. Brad nodded and smiled a hello at them.

“Old, maybe, but you’d still fuck Patterson if he asked,” Brad yelled back at Walt. Walt flicked his eyebrows up and made a coy “who me?” face, smiling.

Being back in front of his regular guys, behind his regular bar, re-energized Brad. He finally was in his element again, hands moving almost unconsciously as he filled orders and flirted his way down the bar. The crowd seemed particularly rambunctious tonight and Brad was more than pleased to see a few very attractive and, more importantly, new faces at his bar tonight.

He and Walt flew, focused only on their work and the line of men against the bar.

<< _Shit, it's busy tonight._ >>

****

Ray could see Brad’s attention was on the men at the lip of the bar.

<< _Smug asshole,_ >> Ray thought, but he was smiling. Even if it wasn’t going to be for Mr. Fick here, Ray was quite certain that he was going to have to make that cup of GTFO coffee for some lucky fuck tomorrow morning.

But now it was time to see if he had been right about Brad having a night to remember. The way Nate had just caressed his own fucking ass, knowing full well how to manipulate Ray, Ray didn’t have a doubt that Nate was about to bring the fucking roof down on all of them, cocks in hand.

Ray pulled the volume down on the music and made the announcement. “Welcome to the hottest joint on South Beach!”

He waited for the huge cheer to subside.

“I’m DJ Ray Person,” Ray said, pausing to acknowledge the even bigger cheer, “and you better hold onto your dicks, ‘cause we got some fresh meat up in here. Give a motherfuckin’ _Matilda’s_ hello to Nate!”

He pulled the music back up again on the [perfect song](http://youtu.be/DSsNRbGNPBY).

****

The music was slowed down and dirty as fuck, and Nate reveled in it. Ray hadn’t told him ahead of time what song he was going to play, just that it would “be like a porno if your pal Ray-Ray was in charge.” Two bars into the song and Nate knew Ray was right, although it was deeper and smuttier than even that. The bass vibrated in his blood and it made his mouth water. He didn’t even have to think about how to work the crowd. He just knew.

  
_Hey boy, take a look at me  
Let me dirty up your mind_

They were already giving him most of their attention and he was going to make it worth their while. He made eye contact with a couple of them -- avoiding looking to the bar just yet -- and let his body tell the story...

  
_I'll strip away your hard veneer  
And see what I can find_

Doc had dressed Nate in tall lace-up boots and obscenely small white briefs. The other dancers were wearing red, and Nate thought Doc’s little joke about the new boy being as virgin as the driven snow was amusing. Nate had dressed himself in the promise that any one of the men in here could have a piece of his twinky ass. His hips traced a slow arc, swiveling and starting the hypnosis.

****

Brad heard Ray’s announcement, but he was busy filling an order (they were coming hot and heavy tonight, nonstop) and didn’t look up. The last dancer Sixta had hired had been subpar, and Brad didn’t have any reason to expect this one was going to be different. He’d meet the new guy later, maybe tomorrow if the hot piece of ginger tail at the end of the bar kept looking at Brad that way.

But then the ginger guy turned away and the bar slowed for a few seconds.

“Busy tonight,” he said to a distracted Walt. Walt was looking up at Ray and grinning from ear to ear, probably eyefucking him into a sad puppydog stupor like usual.

“What? Are you kidding?” Walt reluctantly looked at Brad.

Brad’s face have must shown his confusion. He wondered if Walt heard him right.

Walt started laughing. “You gotta be kidding me! We thought you’d see him right away and it’d ruin the surprise. How ‘bout you look up for a minute?”

It was already dawning on Brad that he’d been wrong. The new dancer must be more than a pretty face. That would explain Ray’s text message earlier, and Walt’s weird “take your time back here” greeting when he got to work.

Ray’s music sounded like fucking. Brad felt a burning thud in his gut that matched the music when he looked up to the platform next to the DJ booth.

  
_I know what’s good for you  
I know you’re dyin’ to_

The first thing Brad saw was the new guy’s suntan line. It froze him in place for a long time. He could see it, a stark whiteness following the line of his briefs around the curve of his ass. A creamy line that surrounded his hips and thighs and waist, all of those places firm and lean.

He poked Walt in the side, harder than necessary. He felt absolutely annoyed that they had kept this guy a secret. Brad might not get first crack at him now, and Brad always...

<< _No.  What?_ >>  Brad reminded himself that he did not date coworkers.

“What’s his name?” Brad hadn’t taken his eyes off Nate once.

****

Nate spun, and _Matilda’s_ finally had a good look at his face. He’d been called pretty before -- often -- and he was going to work it tonight. He let his lips fall open as he danced. His tongue flitted out to wet them and he picked some guy in the crowd and winked at him beneath his long eyelashes.

Finally Nate dared to look at the bar and at Brad. Brad ran his eyes up Nate’s body in a way that felt to Nate like a caress. Finally Brad’s eyes met Nate’s and even from across the club it was an invitation.

  
_This is what he pays me for  
I'll show you how it's done_

Nate felt his lips move. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Nate watched as Brad ignored the one person in the bar who wanted a drink right now. Nate spun again, letting his [ass bounce](http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_li8p34k8iV1qd1ton.gif) and his hips rotate while his hands came up to the back of his neck. When he turned back, Brad looked at Nate for one last moment, rolling his eyes and smirking slightly to indicate how oblivious this customer was to Nate’s show. Brad turned back to the glass shelves of liquor behind the bar, and Nate saw he had a huge tattoo across his lower back. Nate couldn’t see quite what it was from his perch, but it was the nail in Nate’s coffin. He wanted to feel it under his fingertips while he held Brad’s hips. Brad turned back and looked up while he poured the drink and Nate lost the beat for a fraction of a second.

****

Brad saw the briefest missed step by Nate. He grinned broadly, hungrily, up at Nate. Brad knew that it was he that made Nate miss that beat, and he felt blood rush to his cock. He pushed the finished drink across the bar and crossed his arms. Anyone else stupid enough to be thirsty could wait until the end of this song, Brad did not fucking care in the slightest.

It might have been his blazing urge to fuck something tonight, but Brad was positive that Nate was the prettiest thing he had seen in a while. Nate knew how to work the room too. Brad could see every face in the room looking up at Nate while he danced. No one was watching Brad now, that was obvious. The few people that were turning away from Nate were only doing so to dance up on the nearest man to their hardening cocks.

Nate was like a fucking snake charmer, batting his goddamn eyelashes and running his finger along his lips. Brad ran his eyes up from Nate’s leather boots, over the curve of his calves and his deeply bent knees. Then Nate was standing to his full height again, reaching to the support bars above his platform and pulling his abs taut. Brad watched the glint of the club’s lights on the dusting of pale hair across Nate’s pecs. His lips parted.

Brad heard Walt laughing. When he glanced over, he realized Walt was looking at him. Walt looked up at Ray, who was also laughing. Ray made a hand sign like a noose pulling on his neck and pointed at Brad.

“You’re so fucked!” Walt laughed in Brad’s ear over the music.

Brad shook his head, but he couldn’t keep himself from looking back up at Nate. He was magnetic. Brad absently grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started to pour himself a shot. That suntan line... he wanted it under his hands. He wanted to peel those briefs off of Nate slowly. Maybe Nate would be biting the corner of his lip while he let Brad do it. Maybe he’d get on his hands and knees...

<< _Shit._ >> Brad knew he was going to break his rule. It was just going to be sex. No big deal. Brad’s cock was writing the rules now. It was just following Nate’s lead. He drank the shot fast, barely wanting to look away long enough to do that.

  
_I know what's good for you  
You can touch me if you want_

Nate seemed to sense Brad’s fascination with his tanline and ran his thumbs under the elastic of his briefs. Brad could see the hair running from Nate’s navel south and wanted to rub his cock through it. He watched Nate press his shorts lower, turning fluidly so the crowd could admire the top of his ass. Nate caught Brad’s eyes when he turned back, and Nate winked at him.

Brad dropped the bottle of whiskey and it shattered at his feet. He blushed furiously. He may have never blushed in his whole goddamn life, and now this motherfucker had him completely off his game. He recovered and smiled evilly up at Nate, his face saying that Nate was going to pay for that. Nate laughed. He slipped his fists around the fabric at the front of his briefs, thumbs descending below the waistband to meet fingers rising behind the leg elastic. Nate’s bulge was barely hidden now that he’d made his tiny shorts even smaller. Had Nate been dancing here, behind the bar instead of up above the crowd, Brad was sure he’d be treated to the sight of the base of Nate’s cock.

Brad was glad that he was behind the bar because he was hard as fuck.

<< _You know what?_ >>  “Fuck it,” Brad said under his breath.

He leaned against the back shelves so Nate could see him. The teasing wasn’t going to only go one way. Brad ran his hand up and down his cock through his pants and watched Nate’s mouth fall open again. He kept his eyes on Nate’s and Nate nodded once, licking across his reddened lower lip just like Brad knew he would. But then Nate smirked at him. Brad gripped his dick hard through his pants, fully aware that he was leaking enough to leave a wet spot, but he couldn’t help it. This kid looked like he thought he was seducing Brad, and oh if Brad didn’t like the feisty ones.

  
_You can touch me  
But you can't stop_

Nate finished out the song dancing for the crowd, but their cards had been played. At the end of the evening, Brad was going to introduce himself to Nate in more ways than one. For now, he pressed the heel of his hand hard onto his dick, rearranging himself so he could function for the rest of the night. He wanted to excuse himself and rub one out with Nate and his suntan line in his mind’s eye, but fuck if he was going to miss any moment of Nate’s first night at _Matilda’s_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "[Need You Now](http://accol.tumblr.com/post/6356919282/drbeetlblog-need-you-now-cut-copy-this)" by Cut Copy. This song was a major inspiration for this verse. From the moment I heard it, it's been B/N to me. 

_Friday night, Matilda’s is in full swing _

Ray got two wishes granted tonight.

First, Brad was eyefucking the living bejeezus out of Nate. And vice fucking versa. Lust at first sight. It was happening EXACTLY like he’d thought it would -- like he and Walt thought it would -- and every second of it was hysterically funny to Ray.

After the first song, Brad seemed to remember his “no fucking the coworkers” rule and made a comical attempt to rein himself in that only resulted in a beer on his boots. It didn’t surprise Ray in the slightest that Brad couldn’t keep his eyes off of Nate even a little bit. Little baby Jesus angels in g-strings wouldn’t have held Brad’s attention like this. Brad looked absolutely doomed to a life sniffing after Nate’s twinky ass, and Ray was going to let him hear about it later.

Ray could hear the conversation now. It went something like, “I KNEW IT,” chanted in Brad’s face several times loudly (really more like a monologue than a conversation). It was possible that Brad would cold shoulder him for a while, but Ray also thought it was possible that he’d be too busy fucking the new guy to bother.

Ray and Walt laughed together at their shared success from their perches near the guilty parties. Walt danced in a circle of victory behind his end of the bar, arms in the air pulling his shirt up to show off his flat stomach. Ray smiled so broadly his cheeks hurt. He wondered for a second if what he and Walt were doing could be considered eyefucking, but Walt was making an obscene show of stroking his hand over a bottle’s neck and Ray lost that train of coherent thought. Walt’s lewd gestures behind Brad’s back made Ray laugh hard enough to miss a transition. He made up for it by putting on some [smut set to music](http://youtu.be/YSdaagf6MZQ).

  The second wish was granted after a couple of songs, when Ray finally remembered his threat to have Sixta fire Nate. Ray counted no fewer than five dicks getting sucked on the dancefloor. There were probably more than that number of handjobs going on. This set a new _Matilda’s_ record. The most Ray had seen before now was four after a smoking hot guest show by the _Bravo Cabaret_ queens and boys.

“Good thing Rudy is nicer than a cub scout on E because he just lost his King of the Disco crown,” Ray mumbled to himself, marveling at the way Nate was working the crowd. “Eating out of the palm of his hand.”

In his mind, Ray may also have been taking a fair share of the credit for hiring Nate. The crowd was insane. The other dancers were on form tonight. Even the music felt tighter. God, this was making him want to hug stuff. He beamed down at Walt again and was more than pleased to have his smile returned enthusiastically.

Nate took a quick break, popping into Ray’s booth to grab a bottle of water that Walt had left up there for him. He was gleaming with sweat. It served to highlight the good parts, or maybe all of the parts were good parts. He was smiling broadly -- not as nice as Walt’s smile, but whose is? -- and it made him look even twinkier.

“Fuck, homes. Looks like you’re not gonna get fired,” Ray said, laughing and pointing out a guy who had his head thrown back and his hands on his partner’s bobbing head.

“I’d noticed,” he said, eyes glinting. Ray could see that Nate was exhilarated from the dancing and probably from the basically guaranteed hook-up he was eyeballing out of Brad.

“Yeah, well, _I_ had noticed that you and our beloved bartender were trying to set the long distance sex record.”

“Is that what you thought you saw?”

Before Ray could get another verbal jab in, Nate was back out to the cheering, dancing, sucking crowd.

****

It wasn’t only Ray and Walt that had noticed. Brad’s fans, the thirsty ones and the ones who just hoped to catch his eye for a little action, were noticing. Even the regulars hadn’t seen Brad this distracted by anyone before. His sweaty-handed fumbling hadn’t stopped at the whiskey bottle. Brad dropped a Cosmo and three beers before the night was over. The gossip had already started, and that shit flies fast in a gay club.

Walt was picking up the slack, barbacking and bartending while he giggled at Brad and Nate the whole time. As if he wasn’t already the favorite of every top in the 305, his smile was electric tonight. A fucking zap light to the swarm of them at his end of the bar.

All Walt knew was that he and Ray had been right: Brad and Nate were totally into each other. Walt hoped this wasn’t gonna be a love-him-and-leave-him kind of thing (unless that was what they both wanted), because that would suck. Brad was like his big brother and Nate seemed really nice.

He looked up at Ray and smiled that electric smile. Something tingly and clenchy was working in Walt’s stomach in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, and he blushed. Working at _Matilda’s_ was awesome, but it was about five million times better because Ray worked here too.

****

Even with a job that jaded him to the sight of men’s bodies, Doc had to admit that Nate knew what the fuck he was doing up there. He really knew what he was doing. And he looked fucking incredible in what Doc had dressed him in, not that that part surprised Doc. Doc had an eye for those kind of things.

To Doc’s right, some twink dropped to his knees in front of his boyfriend, or maybe it was just a lucky stranger considering that Nate’s dancing was apparently catnip to fags. Whatever the case, it was goddamn hot and Doc wanted some action too. He leaned back into Patterson’s broad chest, reaching his hands back to stroke along Patterson’s hips. Patterson’s growing hardness pressed against his ass and he felt the heat of blood filling his own cock.

Patterson wrapped his arm around Doc’s upper chest.

“The new kid is good,” Patterson said into Doc’s ear. His voice had dropped into The Tone. “I know you saw how he’s affecting our neighbors to the right. I know you can feel how he’s affecting me.”

Patterson pulled Doc closer, rubbing against his ass firmly. His other hand slid around Doc’s hip and onto the front of Doc’s pants. He squeezed just short of painful, the way that was guaranteed to drive Doc to full hardness.

“I can feel how he’s affecting you, Tim. Are you getting turned on by watching Nate? Did you let your hands roam on his body when you were fitting those ridiculously small briefs on him. Get a good look at his dick while you knelt there?”

Doc let his head fall back onto Patterson’s shoulder, and Patterson’s hand came to rest over his throat.

“I think you need to march your ass upstairs to the business office and show me that you’re still mine. Now.”

****

“Walt! Walt! Goddamn it! Walt! Stop eyefucking Ray and snap to.”

“Jesus, Brad, what?”

“Run in the back and get the mop. I...”

Walt laughed when he saw the puddle of spilled booze near Brad’s feet. Brad was red-faced and pissed so Walt went doubletime to fetch it.

Brad didn’t know if he was going to make it through his shift without a jack. Nate was like sex incarnate and he had just fucking WINKED at Brad. Nate slid the waistband of his briefs very low to show off the cleft of his ass, and Brad was forced to grip the edge of the bar. He leaned into it like he’d be able to push it out of the way and the crowd along with it. Then it would be a straight shot over to Nate. Brad would push his briefs the rest of the way off and fuck him on the floor of Ray’s booth. With that mental picture, Brad’s muscles tensed hard to keep himself in working order and on the right side of his rule.

All of the glances Nate was leveling toward the bar had Brad feeling like tonight’s dance was for him and him alone.

****

Doc was not polite as he made a path for them through the crowd. Patterson’s hand was strong on his bicep the whole time, and it only made him feel more urgent.

At the bottom of the stairs, the crowd thinned. Everyone else was pushing toward the dance floor to get a better look at Nate. Fine by Doc because he wasn’t in the mood to be interrupted when they got upstairs. But Patterson didn’t wait to get to the office. He pushed Doc against the wall of the stairwell.

Patterson thrust his muscular thigh between Doc’s legs, pushing hard on Doc’s balls. Patterson had requested that Doc wear a cock ring tonight and Doc complied. (Of course he had. Anything when Sir said so. Patterson never abused the privilege.) Now, Doc could feel the tense pressure as his erection pulled the ring tight around his balls and cock.

Doc’s mouth dropped open slightly as he looked at Patterson’s strong features. Patterson seemed to devour the look of arousal across Doc’s face. He pulsed his thigh upward, and Doc hissed.

“Fuck, I love you so much, Bryan.” He needed to get upstairs to that office and get his hands in Patterson’s pants.

Patterson smiled, if a little evilly. He licked along the stubble of Doc’s jawline, tasting what was completely his. He slowly rubbed himself against Doc’s hip.

“I know. I love you too. Every time you let me do this,” Patterson pressed Doc harder into the wall, emphasizing his dominance, “I love you more. But I’m not in the mood for romance tonight, Tim.” His tone had gone from holding a momentary hint of softness back into that growl of lust.

“I am going to show you how good I can be,” Doc said and then Patterson was kissing him. The warm, heavy feel of Patterson’s body pinning him to the wall was all Doc wanted. Patterson was all he wanted.

Their kiss turned sloppy and desperate. Doc pushed his own thigh between Patterson’s legs. Hands on each other’s hips gave them leverage to frot together, but it wasn’t enough.

“Upstairs, now,” Patterson growled into Doc’s mouth, Doc’s moustache tickling his lips.

They stumbled up the stairs, still trying to keep their tongues tangled. Doc laid back on the landing, pulling Patterson on top of him. Patterson’s arms bulged under his suit coat as he hovered over Doc. Then he dove for the side of Doc’s neck, nuzzling in to inhale Doc’s scent. His hips ground into Doc, erection against erection under their pants.

“More, Sir,” Doc gasped.

Patterson hauled him to his feet and shoved him into the office. He sat in the desk chair and pointed for Doc to kneel. Doc’s hands worked swiftly to unzip Patterson’s trousers. No underwear, as usual. (“Too fucking hot in Miami.”) His cock sprang free, fully erect, and the light from the doorway glinted off his Prince Albert in the second before Doc swallowed him.

The piercing had been Doc’s idea about a year ago. It was unbelievably beautiful: a heavy gauge, curved barbell with ball ends that intimidated the fuck out of Doc every time he laid eyes on them. He loved the feel of it across his tongue when Patterson was hard. It pushed smooth to the back of his mouth. Sometimes he gagged around it; sometimes it clattered against his teeth. But he loved every second of the fact that Patterson got it because _he_ had wanted it.

Patterson sucked air past his teeth when Doc’s tongue threaded between the ring and the head of his cock.

“You know exactly the touch to use, don’t you.”

Doc looked up, mouth still stretched around Patterson’s cock. His eyes were eager. His own cock was straining in his pants, restrained by the silicone ring and feeling hypersensitive. He slid his hand up Patterson’s length and saw Patterson’s pupils dilate wide.

“Stand up and strip for me,” Patterson ordered.

Doc sucked down Patterson’s dick twice more, tasting the precum before he stood up. He was no exotic dancer, and shed his clothes efficiently. It was a huge relief to get his cock out of his boxers. The air-conditioned air sent a shiver through him.

Patterson had been slowly stroking himself with two fingertips and his thumb. “Now, lean over and show me your asshole.”

Doc laid over the desk, cock bumping the vertical face of the drawer. His side of his face pressed against the cool desk when he reached his hands back to spread himself open.

The chair’s wheels squeaked quietly as Patterson repositioned himself behind Doc’s ass. Doc could feel Patterson’s hot breath against his balls and it made his cock jerk against the desk.

“That ring is keeping you in check?”

It was a tease more than a real query, and Doc knew he didn’t expect a response. Patterson could see how red the head of Doc’s dick was, how a tasty drip was forming in the slit. He slid open the desk drawer and pulled out one of the many foil packets of lube stashed in there. ( _Matilda’s_ business office saw a lot of action.)

Doc pulled hard on his ass cheeks when the first drop of cool lube oozed over his hole. The pressure of Patterson’s fingertips chased it, working it quickly around and inside the pucker with two broad fingers. Doc started moaning in anticipation. He braced himself to take Patterson’s girth. Even after this many years, Patterson still stretched him to his limit.

The clink of Patterson’s belt buckle on the floor and the swish of the fabric that followed it made Doc’s balls strain against the ring. Patterson was a master at stretching the time and torturing Doc with it.

The first touch was the cool, smoothness of the ring. Patterson pressed one of the ball ends to Doc’s hole and the pucker opened greedily. For a moment, that jewelry was all that linked them.

“Fuck me, Bryan. Sir...”

Patterson leaned in slowly, letting Doc’s ass take him bit by bit, hungrily. Doc’s knees bent slightly, changing the angle and leaning back into Patterson for more. Slowly, slowly, slowly Patterson fucked in to Doc’s deep, eager heat. He had rubbed one out before they left for the club tonight, while Doc was in the shower, so that he’d be able to go long and hard for Doc tonight, as long as Doc needed him. Now he was ready and so was Doc’s ass.

Patterson pulled back until just the head of his cock was inside Doc’s stretched ass. Then he slammed in hard, taking a steep angle. Doc cried out at the intensity of it. Patterson pulled back slowly and repeated the motion. The ring in his cock pushed deep after thrusting over Doc’s prostate. Doc yelled to the room again.

“Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ! Yes, like that, Sir. Oh, fuck, like that.”

Patterson pulled back slowly and thrust hard, slapping their skin together. And again, and again. The head of Doc’s dick was glistening with precum. A drop fell to the office floor between his feet.

Doc’s hands were still straining to hold his ass wide open. Now Patterson grabbed his wrists, pulling steadily until Doc’s face and shoulders came up off the desk. His joints strained as Patterson fucked into his ass. Doc’s hips dug into the edge of the desk.

“The arch of your back is so fucking hot, Tim.”

He arched further for Sir, feeling the stretch in his abs and the searing, blinding pleasure of Patterson’s dick pummeling his prostate. His dick was pushed to point downwards, jammed against the desk when Patterson pulled him upright. The tension made him see stars.

Patterson dropped his hold on Doc’s wrists. Doc moaned incoherently when Patterson’s hand came around low on his throat. He swallowed and Patterson’s fingers delighted in the feel of Doc’s adam’s apple bouncing. The other hand joined the first, holding Doc’s shoulders at the base of his neck, fingers tickling the soft part of his throat. Patterson pushed him down strongly every time he thrust in. He was owning every piece of Doc’s body, and Doc was giving him all of it.

Wet splatters of precum were dotting the floor at their feet. Doc’s ass and the back of his thighs were reddened with the continual slap of Patterson’s skin against his own. Sweat shone on his back and the musky, manly scent of fucking filled the office.

Patterson released his hold on Doc. He collapsed onto the desk again, but Patterson didn’t let up on his pace. If anything, it got more intense. Doc winced at Patterson’s fingertips drilling into the flesh at his hips. The pain was temporary, because his prostate was screaming. The ring in Patterson’s dick was milking him.

A broken, moaning cry came spilling out of Doc’s mouth when his orgasm hit him. His cock pulsed, hands-free, as Patterson continued to stretch and fill him. Streams of come looped onto the floor between Doc’s sagging knees.

Patterson pulled out, leaving Doc’s red, open hole gaping. He stroked himself quickly to orgasm, spilling his load onto that just-closed pucker.

Still half-hard, Patterson pushed through the come and the lube back into Doc’s ass. Doc clenched and moaned, reaching between his legs to stroke the head of his cock. Patterson used Doc’s ass to squeeze the last of his orgasm out of his dick.

“Tim,” he sighed, collapsing over Doc’s back to touch as much of his skin as he could.

****

“Hey! You came back!” Walt greeted the bearded man that he’d been flirting with last night as he poured the last few drinks of the night. This man was totally Walt’s usual type: hair on his barrel chest, tattoos on his forearms, and aggressive.

“Course I did. I thought you might be down to party after work tonight.”

“My, my. You’re so forward and I’m merely a Southern boy,” Walt smiled cheekily.

He thought a little about Ray, and how he wished Ray would be that forward. It felt earlier like Ray was interested, but he never said anything or did anything about it.

“How would a Southern boy feel about meeting one of my friends?”

Walt smiled coyly at the man.

****

It was the same Creepy Old Fucker as last night; tattoos, beard, wrinkles around his eyes when he gave that predatory smile. Ray felt a surge of jealousy and disgust. The disgust may have been at himself or it may have been for Creepy Old Fucker, Ray didn’t know exactly. He crossed his arms and planted his feet up in his DJ booth, restraining himself from running down there and inserting himself forcibly between them.

He imagined it going down something like this: Ray pokes Creepy Old Fucker in the chest with his finger while yelling “MINE MINE MINE!” Then Creepy Old Fucker backs down and Walt jumps into his arms and they live happily ever after. The end.

He also imagined it was more likely to involve getting punched in the face and having Walt choose Creepy Old Fucker anyway. Ray saw him squeeze Walt’s arm in a rough grip that Walt appeared to really like. Ray deflated further. He’d never be able to be that for Walt.

Ray pulled together a playlist of afterhours music, but he kept a resentful eye toward Creepy Old Fucker.

****

The lights in the club flashed bright, signalling the end of the night, and a collective groan spread through the crowd. _Matilda’s_ had been on fire tonight and no one wanted it to end.

Nate was dripping sweat. That didn’t faze any of the men who surrounded him when he got down to the dance floor. If anything, it seemed to make them want him more. They pressed up against him, whispering all manner of filthy suggestions in his ears. A couple times he could see over their heads to the bar to see Brad rolling his eyes at him. Nate smiled at Brad’s sarcastic expression. Even though they hadn’t even talked yet, he imagined Brad accusing him of thinking himself “hot shit” or something in that vein.

Something about Brad was absolutely fascinating to Nate. Maybe it was that Nate had been told Brad couldn’t be fazed by anything at _Matilda’s_ , even though Nate had found it easy enough to catch his attention with a good ass shake. He’d already started to find ways to rationalize this, even though sex with the man that was basically his boss did strike Nate as a particularly bad idea. Even though keeping this job and paying for college was supposed to be his top priority. Then again, in Nate’s book, nothing was better than a good challenge.

Nate kept his hands at the ready (now covered with names and phone numbers), preparing to defend his cock from curious hands. Amazingly none came, but a few cocktail napkins with more phone numbers and some money were threaded through Nate’s briefs.

“I’ll be back for more, gentlemen. Don’t worry,” Nate purred. It was his job after all.

All night he’d had one place on his mind, and that was Brad’s bar. Nate needed a towel, but he thought he might find something else behind the bar that he’d like against his skin.

****

Brad was closing out the bar. He had wiped down every surface at least twice, doing something useful while he waited for Nate to emerge from the scrum on the dancefloor. It was better than sitting on his thumbs and looking overeager. A couple of the regulars and a couple of new guys passed by the bar to say goodnight, trolling for a hook-up, but Brad brushed them off.

Nate looked over from his mass of fans and raised an eyebrow at Brad. It was a combination of pride in a job well done on his first night and mild irritation at his current circumstance. That Nate had looked to _him_ while he was surrounded by Miami’s finest, ripe for the picking, went straight to Brad’s dick. That level of response -- whether it was due to being overdue for a fuck or not -- was not dignified.

Brad saw Kocher talking to Schwetje near the front door. Kocher circled his hand in a gesture that was an order to do the standard after-hours sweep of the building’s perimeter. On occasion they found people who were sleeping off too much booze in the alley, and _Matilda’s_ was always good enough to see they found their way to a cab. They also made a point to get rid of the people having sex outside. The cops frowned on that, and Godfather maintained a very good relationship with them so they didn’t look too closely inside the club during operating hours for drugs or public indecency.

Brad waited to see if Nate was going to come out of the crowd under some dude’s arm or if he was going to be solo. That would determine what Brad was going to have to do next: He’d go claim Nate or Nate would come to him. Either way, Brad wanted Nate and he was going to take a crack at him. Nate could be the one exception to his rule.

Finally Nate stepped to the edge of the crowd. He was taller than most of them and plenty able to handle himself. (Brad had to admit that he found that incredibly appealing in such a pretty package.) Nate brushed an unwanted hand off his bicep, kindly but emphatically, and looked directly at Brad while he did it. Nate’s eyes were smiling but heading toward fed up as he tried again to extricate himself. Brad’s lips turned up at one corner in a knowing smirk. He had to fight the same throng from time to time, although Brad thought Nate’s current crowd might have even exceeded his own fans.

Kocher came to the rescue.

“Goodnight, gentlemen. Come again. Move along,” he said forcefully but politely.

The customers finally relented, letting Kocher shoo them off of Nate and out the front door. He winked knowingly at Nate. Nate gave him a small smile and nod, and turned for the bar.

“Hi. Nate Fick,” he said, extending his hand.

Brad noted how direct Nate was. He held Brad’s gaze, not doing some bullshit coy thing where he looked aside or tried to look shy. Not that Brad should have expected anything different after the show Nate put on. And his eyes... fuck.

Brad put a fresh towel in Nate’s left hand and his own hand in Nate’s right.

“Brad Colbert.”

Their hands weren’t moving like a handshake requires. They were too focused on each other’s faces.

“You enjoyed the show then?”

A surprised laugh left Brad’s throat before he could restrain it, because Nate’s question sounded more like a statement. “I did indeed.”

“Good,” said Nate. His matter-of-fact tone was so unexpected from a fag in _Matilda’s_. “I’m going to go dry off and put on my clothes...” Nate started. The corners of his mouth were drifting upward.

“Don’t do that on my account,” Brad interrupted with a smirk. His eyes were flitting between Nate’s lips and his eyes. Brad was hardening again behind the bar. He squeezed Nate’s hand, the handshake still lingering between them.

Nate chuffed a laugh. “And when I come back out, you could give me the low-down on _Matilda’s_. I hear you run things on the ground.”

“That’s true. Hurry back.”

Brad didn’t drop Nate’s hand right away, holding it just long enough to get his point across. Nate quirked an eyebrow and a sly smile spread across his lips. Brad enjoyed watching Nate walk back to the dressing room. He even leaned around the corner to watch him go down the hallway.

****

“Good fucking luck for you,” Ray said bitterly to Brad, who was distractedly wiping the counter down again.

Brad came back to reality. “I will enjoy making you suffer for not telling me about Nate.”

“Whatever,” Ray said grumpily.

Brad knew immediately what had Ray so pissed off. Walt was over by the front entrance, flirting some daddy out of his pants.

“Ray, you gotta let it go, man.”

“Fuck you.”

Brad knew well enough to surrender for the time being.

“Fine. At least go in back where you can’t see it. It’s not healthy for you, and I need my DJ.”

Ray looked at Brad. His eyes looked furious. Typical Ray to get pissed at Brad for breaking down the truth and giving it to him as a bitter, but necessary pill. Underneath the fury, Ray just looked tired. He didn’t say anything more to Brad before walking back to the dressing room.

****

Nate was pulling a white t-shirt over his head when Ray got to the dressing room.

“Don’t fuck him up,” Ray said. He was fucking serious. He felt so territorial about his people. Ray stomped over to Nate and poked a finger in his chest. “Do not.”

Nate knew when to leave well enough alone. He went back to the front of the house, belt still unbuckled and his feet scuffing into his flip-flops.

****

Brad came around the bar, pulling a couple of stools together. Brad still didn’t have a shirt on and Nate didn’t hide the fact that he was checking Brad out. Brad’s dogtags shifted between his pecs. Nate definitely looked better up close, and he’d already looked incredible from across the dancefloor. Nate slowly buckled his belt and sat down on the stool Brad offered.

Brad smiled in a way that exposed his teeth. “That was quite the show you gave us tonight, Nate.”

Nate raised an eyebrow and waited a few beats before responding.  Brad wondered if this guy was about ego or skill, because he definitely thought he was running this game right now.

“That’s what Ray and Sixta hired me for, and I intend to do the job properly.”

“Hard-ons for all of South Beach? Outstanding work.”

“Think of it as a welcome home gift.”

Brad hummed. “A good one. It might be wise for me to go out of town more often.” No fucking kidding. A week of stressed out, balls out, cock stowed mania up in New York made Nate’s arrival feel like a reward for his hard work, delivered to his door hot like a pizza. Brad didn’t try to keep his eyes on the level... “So, you want to know the ground rules for working at _Matilda’s_?”

Ray had queued up some music before going in the back, and  [something](http://accol.tumblr.com/post/6356919282/drbeetlblog-need-you-now-cut-copy-this) not quite up-tempo came on.

 “I do. After this song. Come with me,” Nate said, looping a fingertip through Brad’s dogtags. “It’s time to dance.”

“I work behind the bar for a reason,” Brad protested, but he didn’t protest very hard. The idea of Nate dancing for him, near him, touching him was too tempting. That Nate was pulling him around like he was on a leash didn’t escape Brad. He’d let it slide for now, waiting for the right time to flip the dynamic.

“Nonsense. I saw you working back there. You move like it’s second nature. Plus, are you really going to turn me down?” Nate was running his hands up and down Brad’s forearms as they walked out onto the empty dancefloor.

A drop of water and sweat ran down Nate's temple. Brad’s thumb swept it away. No one else was around. Maybe Ray was still in back. Kocher and Schwetje were locking up probably. Brad was seriously thinking about breaking his rule right here. He watched Nate lick his lips, pulling the bottom one softly with his teeth. 

  
_I know we’re goin’ crazy_   
_But I need you now_   


Brad let Nate guide his hips, rocking them in a motion matching his own. It wasn’t chaste, but there was still a safe gap of air between them. The gap was filled with the remnants of Brad’s cardinal rule and Nate’s sense of propriety. It was also filled with the buzzing of their mutual attraction, and it was narrowing.

  
_Hand touches your body now_   
_Lips touch as you're falling down_   


“How many of those phone numbers shoved in your briefs are you going to call?” Brad was teasing Nate, but he also really wanted to know what his competition looked like. He leaned in close to Nate’s ear even though the music wasn’t loud. Brad’s lips felt the dampness of his hair.

“Jealous already? I did wash the ones off my hands.” Nate threaded his fingers through Brad’s.

Brad laughed along the strong line of Nate’s shoulder. His breath made Nate shiver, and Brad smirked at the response. The gap filled with common-sense between them was rapidly closing. Brad pushed one of their linked hands to the small of Nate’s back.

“I suppose there were a few stand-outs in there, but I’m waiting to see what else presents itself,” Nate said dryly.

Brad pulled back to look in Nate’s eyes. He found them smiling, despite Nate’s flat tone. God, this one was dangerous.

“Shaking your ass up there and sending the whole crowd home unsatisfied. Are you always such a tease?”

“That? That’s just the job,” Nate said, not really answering.

Nate’s lips whispered across Brad’s face. He never let it cascade over into a kiss. The air felt like it was crackling across their skin in an invitation to taste.  Brad felt every beat of his heart thrusting blood into his cock, pulsing and aching for what had to come next. Fuck, he wanted to grab Nate hard and see where this could go. He dropped Nate’s hand and ran his fingers along the back of Nate’s belt, pushing Nate’s t-shirt aside and stealing a touch against his still-damp skin.

  
_I need you now_   
_To fight somehow_   


“I heard you have a rule,” Nate whispered in Brad’s ear. “Care to see how far we can bend it?”

****

Ray sat down on one of the benches, trying to make sense of it. The hallway and the laughing... He had been so _sure_ that Walt was leaving the door open to him. Ray had been sure that he was reading things right in those blue eyes. He replayed the scenes over in his head again and again.

He was fucking surrounded by couples -- Patterson and Doc, Rudy and Pappy, Godfather and Mattis. Hell, even Q-Tip and Christeson had adopted a cat and had stopped fucking around. Now Brad “Alpha Cock” Colbert was out there three sheets to the wind with his instaboner crush on Nate. And Walt just left with some old dude. Ray couldn’t help the twisting feeling of perpetual loneliness in his gut.

He knew what he was: a scrawny, patchy-bearded, art fag. He was never going to be big or barrel chested or hairy. Since that was what Walt liked, Ray surmised that there was never going to be a chance with Walt. Brad was right, he needed to let this go.

Ray slowly went over to the bathroom sink and ran some cold water over his face. It cleared his mind a little. Yep, Brad was probably right. Brad was right. It should be his goddamn mantra, since Brad was always right.

Ray shuffled back over and grabbed his bag from his locker. He looked over at Walt’s locker. It was hanging ajar, and Ray had a strong urge to go tear everything out of it and throw it on the floor. He didn’t, though. He gently closed it instead. (<< _Fucking symbolism._ >>) Then he threw his bag over his shoulder and started for the back door and home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **TRIGGER WARNING**_ for graphic depictions of violence, offensive language, and sexual assault. The beginning of this chapter overlaps with the end of the last chapter, soap opera style. 

_Saturday @ 01:50, just before Matilda’s closing time_

Christeson was leaning over the sink with the bathroom door hanging open, removing the last of his eye make-up, when Pappy walked into _Matilda’s_ dressing room.

“They almost done out there?” Christeson asked quietly, gesturing back with his cotton ball in the direction that Pappy came from. It always amused Pappy how different Christeson was from his flamboyant, loud, on-stage persona. He was almost serene when he was off-stage and Q-Tip wasn’t riling him up.

“Pretty soon,” Pappy replied. He opened Rudy’s locker and started organizing his things so they could make a prompt get-away. “New guy started tonight. It was... intense.” Pappy looked back down the hallway toward the club. For the stoic Pappy, the look was almost dreamy.

“Q-Tip told me he was gonna debut,” Christeson smiled. “Pretty sure Q-Tip woulda brought him home from the bar the other day if he’d been down with it.”

“Not surprised that Q-Tip tried, but by the looks of things, Colbert is gonna be all over that. Pretty sure you and Q-Tip are out of luck.”

“Que sera, sera,” Christeson sighed with a healthy dose of mock, queeny drama. “Dude’s good then?”

“Damn good,” Pappy smirked under his moustache. “He’ll give Rude a run for his money out there.”

“Sweet. That’s what Q-Tip said too, but I didn’t know if he was blowing it outta proportion or whatever. Sucks that I don’t have any nights off until next week to come see.”

“How’s James?” Pappy asked, changing the subject to _Bravo Cabaret’s_ grand dame. Word had traveled about how the New York kid’s attack had affected her.

“Ah, y’know. She puts on a good show. Off stage too. Always has. But I think he and Godfather are, like, tired.”

Pappy nodded.

Christeson added, “T and I keep telling him that we want to try some new songs, and that him and Godfather should take a vacation down to the Keys or whatever.”

Pappy raised his brow to wordlessly ask if they were making headway on that tack.

“You know Mattis likes Bravo run tight and I think she only trusts herself to keep it that way, but that’s total shit ‘cause me and T know what we’re doing. Mattis can’t work forever.”

Pappy shrugged noncommittally. Their conversation was interrupted by the high-energy and sweaty arrival of Q-Tip, Rudy, and Lilley. Pappy had a towel waiting for Rudy. He got a quiet kiss in return and his smile made his face look years younger.

“Fucker, outta there! I got a piece of tail waiting, so gimme the bathroom,” Lilley said rapidly to Christeson. He was acting like he’d had a pot of coffee injected directly into his veins; bouncing all over the place.

“Yo, don’t be takin’ all night up in there,” Q-Tip responded to Lilley. Christeson had exited the bathroom and was now sitting next to Q-Tip’s locker, examining his bright pink fingernails. “The rest of us wanna get outta here too.”

“Don’t worry, brah. I ain’t making that one out there wait, if you know what I mean.” Lilley’s smile was comical in its predatory enthusiasm.

Less than five minutes later, the five of them turned for the hallway back into the club, heading out front and toward home. They passed a smiling Nate, who was absently running a bar towel across his bare chest. Lilley flew down the hallway toward his date, barely slowing to acknowledge Nate with a “kick ass job, brah.” Christeson and Q-Tip blew him kisses as they walked, Q-Tip’s arm slung lazily around Christeson’s shoulders. Rudy clapped Nate on the shoulder and beamed at him. Pappy nodded, grinning with his eyes more than his mouth, while he walked behind Rudy, hands on Rudy’s waist.

They all said goodnight to a distracted Brad.

****

Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right.

He slowed his gait and pulled back, unwilling to go further until some ground rules were in place about what exactly tonight’s activities were going to entail. The grip the man had on his upper arm tightened painfully, and the other guy -- no, there were two more -- they looked... not right. They circled him and pushed him into the alley.

“Wait, guys. What’s--”

The sour stench of sweat was all around him as a strong forearm came around his neck from the back and pressed suffocatingly against his windpipe. The first blinding flash of fear took away his voice. Adrenaline pushed his blood faster and faster until it rang deafeningly in his ears.

“Keep quiet, faggot. Tonight you’re gonna learn a fuckin’ life lesson,” spat the man he thought was going to be a fun couple of hours. Fuck, he’d been so wrong.

He felt the horrifying sting of a knife cutting a line into his upper chest and he knew he’d made a horrible mistake.

****

The first song had finished and at least one more had gone by, maybe more. Brad and Nate were still pressed closely together on the dance floor. Any illusion of dancing had been dropped in favor of pushing the boundaries of Brad’s rule.

Nate ran his fingers over the smooth skin of Brad’s bare lower back, ghosting over the contours. Brad moved his lips over Nate’s neck so softly that Nate wasn’t sure if it was skin-on-skin or just Brad’s breath. They leaned into each other.

“Is this the new employee orientation?” Nate’s voice hitched on the last word when Brad sucked gently on the skin of his neck. Nate ran some fingertips up Brad’s spine in response, and Brad shivered ticklish.

“Hey now, none of that,” Brad squirmed at Nate’s touch. “You’ve met Q-Tip and Lilley. Do you think I showed them the ropes like this?”

“Here’s what they told me. They called you the Iceman, said you were hot as fuck, and described in excruciating detail the ways in which they’d tried to hook up with you. They also told me you had made yourself off limits due to your rule.”

Brad met Nate’s eyes and was smirking. “Yes, all true.”

“So what’s this then?” Nate’s knees dipped to the rhythm of the song, making his ass bounce under Brad’s hands.

“Mmmm. Well, _you_ were the one who suggested bending my rule tonight.”

“I did indeed, but you don’t strike me as one to follow just anyone’s orders, Brad.”

“First, your order was more of a suggestion. Second, it was exactly what I’d been thinking. Thus, I was really only following my own idea.”

Now it was Nate’s turn to chuckle. “Oh, ok. I’ll let you think you’re in control then, if that’s the way you like it.”

At that, Brad’s eyes shone with desire. “You, Nate, are dangerous.”

“I am the opposite of dangerous.”

“Not to me.”

****

“NO!” His voice was surprisingly loud and strong when it came charging back. Anger replaced his initial fear. This was not going to happen to him. Baiting him to come out here? These fuckers could go to hell. He spat the words, “Fuck you!”

He pushed hard against the stinking arm holding him and it slackened. These arrogant bastards were so expecting him to take this abuse that they weren’t even ready when he fought back. His muscles tensed to run--

A fist pounded into his gut, and his breath was pushed out of him in a dull grunt.

“You want more? I’ll give you a fist in your fucking teeth, boy! Your gay-ass mouth needs to shut the fuck up,” the guy from the club -- his “date” -- yelled in his face.

Another voice came sing-songing from his left. “Oh, is the little, pretty faggot scared now? You should be pissing your pants, motherfucker!”

A third voice. “Keep it down, you idiots.”

His “date” responded, “Whatever. This won’t take long. This one wants it bad, so I think we should show him how real men do it.”

****

“Up, Bryan,” Doc said. Patterson was still sprawled warm and sated across his back. “Schwetje’s going to do his security sweep and walk in on us.”

“Five more seconds,” Patterson said lazily, inhaling deeply of Doc’s skin.

“You always say five more seconds,” Doc said. His words words were impatient, but his tone was soft enough. “Fine. Five, four, three, two, one. Now up.”

Doc pushed his chest up. His sweat-sticky skin peeled away from the desktop. Patterson was forced to stand up and disentangle himself from Doc. Doc shivered slightly in the air-conditioning without Patterson’s body there to shield him from the cold air.

“Fine then,” Patterson said. It wasn’t quite a sigh, but for Patterson even that was being overdramatic.

“I’m just looking out for you. If Schwetje comes in here and sees your cock, you know it’s going to be months of him nosing around to get some.”

“What a fucking waste of space that one is,” Patterson snorted. “Ok, then get your shit together. We should go home. You need a shower. Have you seen your ass? Filthy.” Patterson was smirking as he pulled his trousers back on and buckled his belt.

“That’s why I’m with you: your sense of humor,” Doc replied, sounding grumpy but grinning. He put on his shirt.

****

He stomped on “his date’s” instep and dragged in a huge, gasping breath. He tried to yell for help but he couldn’t get his wind. The punch to his stomach seemed to have stolen it permanently. His cry came out thin and whistling.

With an angry grunt, the guy shoved him hard against the brick wall. His forehead bounced off it and he blacked out.

A second later or a few minutes later -- he wasn’t sure -- he came to. Thick blood was running from his scalp down across his eyelid, making his eyelashes stick to his cheek. One of them was yanking his pants down. Then his face was being ground into the wall.

“Walt, oh, Walt,” came a taunting voice. “Wake up for this. You need to feel every moment of this, queer.”

He knew what they were going to do and he fought. His elbow flew back and connected with someone’s ribs.

The second guy screamed, pinched and shrill right behind his ear. “Fuck you, you fucking faggot! I think he broke my ribs! Shit! Fuck his shit up!”

He pulled his elbow back and swung it again, but it only found air.

“With pleasure. What we’ve got here is a little negative reinforcement, you disgusting piece of shit. Gonna fuck the gay right outta ya.”

****

Ray stopped at _Matilda’s_ back door and jammed his earbuds in. He rested his head against the taped-up fliers hanging on the inside of the door and scrolled through his phone, looking for the right song -- the angriest one or maybe the most pathetic one, he didn’t give a fuck. It was the pathetic one that he came to first, and it turned out he did give a fuck because it felt like an icepick to his gut.

“God-fucking-damn this shit!” Ray yelled when he scrolled slowly past the playlist he’d made for Walt. He made a fucking mixtape for the guy! He thumped his head hard against the door, whispering, “Walt.”

God, why did he have to want him so bad? It was some sort of cosmic torture! Ray just needed to get outside and run until his lungs burned so he didn’t end up crying like some kind of emo fuckhead teenager.

****

Walt spat the blood out of his battered mouth and it sprayed cruelly along the wall of the alley. He wanted to struggle hard enough to turn and spit it in their faces, but his body wasn’t cooperating anymore.

“Cowards and bigots,” he rasped past his split lips.

“You are wrong, ” the third man said. “We are here to help you. After we’re through with you, you’ll know the consequences for flaunting your perverted behavior.”

Walt had a fraction of a second to register that this third guy seemed like the mastermind behind this operation before Walt’s “date” cranked Walt’s arm up high behind his back. He felt the twang of some necessary thing snapping and needle-sharp pain drove through his shoulder. He gritted his teeth to deny his attackers the pleasure of hearing him cry.

“Go to hell,” Walt hissed.

He braced himself mentally for the pain he knew was going to be piled upon him, but he was cold scared. Then his head was being pounded against the wall again. The blinding whiteness of the agony made him retch. At least the acid burning in his throat distracted from the pulsing pain in this forehead.

****

Ray was putting away his earbuds when he walked out into the alley. Immediately he heard the grunting down past the dumpsters.

<< _Didn’t Schwetje sweep the alley? That fuckhead. Just what I need to see right now is some fucking hook-up. Of all the goddamn nights..._ >>

The voices rose. “Make him stop moving around so goddamn much! Stop fucking moving, asshole. If you like it in your ass so much, take it like a...”

The voice cut off to the sound of struggling and swearing. Ray’s hand closed around the pepper spray in his bag. Then there was sharp scream of pain.

<< _Shit!_ >>

Ray was frozen. He suddenly was sure that some unlucky bastard was getting raped, but what was he supposed to do here? Go inside and call the cops or pepper spray the hell out of these fuckers?

Then Ray heard something worse than he ever could have imagined.

“Get the fuck off me!” It was Walt.

There were no more thoughts about wasting time to call the fucking cops. Ray was already moving, almost involuntarily. He lifted his bag over his head and quietly rounded the corner of the dumpster unseen, pepper spray at the ready. He retched to see a bloodied Walt still fighting as he was being raped. Something tore in Ray’s soul and he was ready to kill these men.

“Take it faggot. We’re doin’ you a favor. Fucking the homo right out of you.”

“FUCK YOU!” Walt said it weakly, but Ray screamed it.

He sprayed pepper spray everywhere, knowing Walt would probably get a lungful, but he needed to get these assholes away from Walt. The main perpetrator -- it was Creepy Old Fucker, Ray realized in horror -- banged Walt’s head off the brick wall with a horrible crunch and turned to Ray. Walt slackened and slid down into a bloody heap.

Ray was on fire with crimson rage. How dare they -- how fucking DARE they -- do this to his Walt? << _My Walt._ >>

Ray leapt onto the guy, putting a fog of pepper spray right into his glaring eyes. The guy screamed shrilly and collapsed with his dick still hanging out incriminatingly. Ray was already disentangling himself and stalking the next guy. The second one must have been surprised to have been caught -- stupid, arrogant, homophobic bastard! -- and Ray got within a couple of feet of him before the guy even seemed to register Ray was coming for him. Number Two’s eyes got wide and terrified, but it was too late to run. He slashed at Ray with his knife, but Ray sprayed him in the eyes and mouth. The guy’s face twisted in agony and his hands shot up to claw at his rapidly reddening skin. The knife clattered to the pavement. Ray kicked him in the balls for good measure. A third one ran out of the alley before Ray could get a good look.

The two rapists -- that word sounded too good for these pieces of shit -- were rolling on the filthy ground in agony. For a moment, while he stood over them panting and feeling weirdly victorious, Ray seriously thought he could kill them. He wanted them dead for hurting Walt; for hurting him in this horrible, grotesque, bigoted way.

But the moment passed in a blink because Walt needed him. All of the aggression drained out of Ray, leaving him cold and panicking. He sank to his knees next to Walt’s bloodied, motionless form with a sob.

****

They still weren’t breaking the rules. Bending the rules, yes, but not breaking them. There hadn’t been any real kisses. Maybe Brad had passed his mouth over Nate’s, but it had been more like sharing breath than a kiss. Below the belt, though... the pants were still fastened and their hands were innocent enough, but Nate and Brad were both fully aware of where this was going.

“What do you think if we got out of here?” Brad asked, looking Nate straight in the eyes. He had threaded his fingers through a couple of Nate’s belt loops to keep him pulled close.

“Yeah, I think so,” Nate replied, holding Brad’s stare. He put his hands on Brad’s hips and started walking him backwards. “We’d better go find your shirt.”

Brad smiled until his teeth showed. “That’s not very efficient, Nate, if it’s just going to be on the floor of your apartment later.”

“My apartment?” Nate wrapped his arms around Brad hard, lifting him slightly as they went up the one step toward the hallway. He smirked, “Maybe we just skip the shirt and ditch your pants.”

“Let me get this straight. Not only should I break my ‘no coworkers’ rule, but we should do it here? That I’m even considering it proves how dangerous you are.”

Nate leaned in like he was going to kiss Brad, but shifted at the last moment to run his lips across Brad’s cheek and neck. Nate snaked some fingers up Brad’s chest and over his hard nipples.

Brad let out a breathy grunt. “Dangerous.” He spun Nate and pressed him against the door to the dressing room, using his hips to hold Nate in place.

“Dangerous? Me?” Nate didn’t consider himself particularly dangerous. He was certainly going to fuck with Brad right now, though, and if that made him dangerous, so be it.

“Yes. Very.”

“The predator is the prey?”

Brad’s toothy smile reemerged. “You think you know that about me?”

Nate smirked and reached back for the doorknob. He grabbed Brad’s belt buckle with his other hand and pulled him into the dressing room.

****

Ray ran his fingertips over Walt’s bloody, swollen face. It horrified him. The slip of Walt’s blood under his fingertips, the slit that Walt’s right eye had become, the angry split in his lower lip... all of it made Ray feel desolate. How would he handle it? How would he handle anything without Walt?

“Walt? Walt? Walt, wake up, baby. Come on,” Ray said gently.

There was no response.

“Come on, Walt!” Ray yelled. Still no response. << _Oh, God! This is so fucked up!_ >>

He looked around the alley. Creepy Old Fucker looked like he was trying to crawl away, but he was barely moving. The other was still rolling on the ground moaning and crying with his hands at his burning eyes. Ray had to do something _now_ , before they got away and before Walt...

<< _No, do not fucking think that shit!_ >>

Ray wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand and stood. He gently but firmly took handfuls of Walt’s shirt at the shoulders. Walt’s head lolled nauseatingly and Ray started second-guessing himself.

<< _What if he gets hurt more by getting moved? But what if I leave him here and the guys beat him more? Where is my fucking phone?_>>

“Shit! Shit! SHIT!” Ray kept pulling Walt back to the employee exit as gently and as quickly as he could manage.

****

Kocher stowed his clipboard inside the coat check room. The last mark on his checklist had been for clearing the bathrooms. That tended to be the place that men lingered, but none had tonight. He was sort of surprised at that, considering how much Nate’s debut had riled up the crowd.

He’d smirked when he quietly skirted Brad and Nate on the dancefloor. They were trying not to fuck each other and clearly failing in a hurry.

At the front door, there was Schwetje. He was looming over some drunk college twink, presumably trying to pick him up. Kocher hated watching Schwetje flirt (if you could even call it that). It was a fucking train wreck every time.

“Schwetje, you got the alley?”

“Huh?”

Kocher looked at Schwetje like he had rocks in his head. “The fucking alley. Just like every night: _the alley_.”

“Uh...”

Kocher looked back at the college kid who looked to be nodding off in his drunken state.

“For fuck’s sake. I’ll do it. Get that kid a cab. You know that fucking him would be inappropriate since he barely is keeping himself upright right now. I should not have to tell you that shit.”

“I was going to get around to it,” Schwetje said.

“What-the-fuck-ever,” Kocher mumbled as he went to sweep the alley for stragglers himself.

As soon as he rounded the corner, he knew something was wrong. His skin prickled when he heard the frantic pounding on _Matilda’s_ back door. And then he heard Ray’s panicked voice yelling for help. Kocher unsnapped his holster and started pulling his gun before he was three steps into his run down the alley.

The weak light from the bulb over the employee door was still enough for Kocher to see the fucked up scene: Walt beaten to a bloody pulp and apparently unconscious; Ray bloodied and manic; and two fuckheads who looked to be pepper sprayed within an inch of blindness. He held his gun on them.

<< _Jesus fuck! Who the fuck would beat up Walt?_ >> Then Kocher saw Walt’s pants were unfastened and ice filled his gut.

“Ray! Shit! Ray, did you call the cops yet?”

“Kocher, you gotta help Walt. They... they... oh, fuck! We gotta get him inside. Away from--”

“Ray, did you call the cops?”

“Um... what? No. My phone... I don’t know...”

Kocher wasn’t the kind to comfort his buddies, but he tried this time because it was obvious that Ray had just taken down two guys that each had at least fifty pounds on him. The kid was the night’s hero and he was in shock about it.

“It’s ok. I’ll call them. You did good, Ray.”

The employee door swung open from the inside and Brad and Nate were standing there, silhouetted in the bright light from the dressing room in a way that made Ray visibly recoil in momentary fear. Ray leaned his body over Walt’s protectively, and Kocher felt a mixture of pity and respect. Kocher got a better look at Walt, and he could tell it was really bad. God, he looked lifeless.

“Walt!” Brad slid past Ray and moved to pick up Walt’s legs. He started to direct Nate to Walt’s shoulders, but Nate was already there.

Nate softly spoke to Ray, who looked reluctant to let Walt go even for a few seconds. “Ray, let us help him. We’ll move him inside. We should lay him flat until the ambulance comes.” Nate looked at Kocher with eyebrows raised questioningly.

Kocher nodded. He dialed and jammed his phone between his shoulder and ear. His hands were busy in his inner coat pocket, pulling out some makeshift handcuffs. The 911 dispatcher answered and he calmly told them what he could. He didn’t know the details, so the call was short and to the point. He looked at Walt’s attackers with disgust.

When he pocketed his phone, he thought, << _Fuck, but Walt? Of all fucking people it had to be the best one of us?_ >>

Kocher flipped the first guy over on the ground, not caring in the slightest if the fucker’s cheeks got scraped, and put his knee in the small of the guy’s back. The fucker wasn’t trying to get away, but Kocher wanted -- he _really_ wanted -- to hurt him bad for the disgusting shit he’d done. Everyone involved was lucky he could restrain himself to _only_ a knee in the kidney.

“Hands!” Kocher commanded, but the fucker just moaned and pawed at his face. He was covered in tears and snot. Kocher grabbed the guy’s forearms and pulled them back, zip-tying his wrists together. The second guy got the same treatment, and Kocher didn’t feel even a little bit sad that the bastard’s naked dick was getting ground into the alley’s filth when he did it.

Kocher wasn’t sure if it was some sort of adrenaline-driven time dilation, but the cops were there as soon as he finished with the second guy. He gave them the 45 second version of what he knew and indicated Ray crouching over Walt inside the dressing room door. Nate was pressing a bar towel onto the cut on Walt’s chest. Brad was standing over all of them, looking like he’d tackle anyone who got too close and didn’t pass the sniff test.

The cops looked at the zip-tied perpetrators with a satisfactory level of disgust. Kocher thought that they were lucky to get these two cops responding to the scene. The guys on the force across in Miami didn’t always look favorably on victims in South Beach.

He excused himself and ran through the dressing room, heading for the front of the club again. Patterson and Doc were just coming down the stairs from the office.

“Are those sirens _here_?”

Kocher saw their faces drop when they read the intensity on his face. “Go to the dressing room and see if you can help.”

They went immediately and without further questions.

Kocher sprinted to out the front door. Fucking Schwetje was STILL THERE with his twink.

“SCHWETJE! The goddamn police car parked 20 feet to your left didn’t even rouse you from your stupidity?” Kocher grabbed a stunned Schwetje and dragged him bodily back inside _Matilda’s_ front door. He had to jog to keep up with Kocher.

“Hey, man. What’s with the arm grab?”

Kocher chose silence. He shoved Schwetje down the hallway, and Schwetje stumbled through the door into the dressing room.

****

The ambulance arrived less than two minutes after the police. Nate escorted the paramedics inside, quietly describing how Ray had dragged Walt to the back stairs and they’d moved him inside. Nate had tried to stabilize Walt’s neck with a couple of rolled up t-shirts, and told the paramedics that he’d felt a pulse in Walt’s neck. Ray still was hovering protectively, holding one of Walt’s hands. He was pressing a damp cloth against Walt’s forehead.

“Ray.” Brad’s voice was softer than Nate would have expected, but it was firm. “You have to let these guys do their jobs. They’ll take care of him, Ray.”

“Yeah? WE were supposed to be taking care of him!” Ray was distraught, but he relented and moved aside to let the paramedics work. The EMTs immediately started stabilizing Walt’s neck and stringing him up with an IV.

It was then that Kocher shoved Schwetje into the room. He stumbled and gaped at the scene in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Schwetje asked, sounding dazed and uncomprehending. “What’s going on?” He asked again, his voice becoming sharper and nasal.

Nate couldn't believe what he was hearing. He’d been warned about Schwetje’s skeeviness and the other men had hinted at Schwetje’s poor job performance. But here was Schwetje with a tone that was almost accusing, like Walt was inconveniencing him for getting attacked on his shift. Nate thought he could see the wheels grinding in Schwetje’s head as he tried to put the words together to accuse them all of being reckless.

Ray’s eyes shot daggers at Schwetje. The tension in the room ratcheted up through the roof at Schwetje’s arrogant stupidity. Ray coiled to pounce on Schwetje, but Brad caught him before he could launch himself. But Brad’s grip on Ray’s arms couldn’t restrain Ray’s biting words. They came spitting out through his tears of anguish and unbridled rage.

“You fucking piece of shit! Where the fuck WERE you? Getting your dick sucked while they beat him up in the alley that YOU were supposed to be clearing? They RAPED him!”

Ray’s face was burning red with emotion, and Brad was having to struggle against him to keep him in check. It was obvious to everyone -- it was even dawning on Schwetje -- that Ray would seriously fuck Schwetje up if Brad let him go.

No one was holding Patterson back, though. His cold, silent fury exploded like a grenade. A single, violent punch to Schwetje’s face made him collapse to his knees at Patterson’s feet. Schwetje moaned and blood oozed past the cupped hand he held to his broken nose. Patterson spit on the floor next to Schwetje’s boot.

Doc was by Patterson‘s side and his voice was low and scary when he spoke to Schwetje. “You’d better leave immediately.”

“But, my fucking nose,” Schwetje sputtered through the blood. “He broke my nose. The paramedics could...”

Nate was amazed at the expression on Schwetje’s face. Even now, beneath the blood, he appeared to be completely oblivious to the fact that this occurred on HIS watch and that proper execution of his job likely would have prevented Walt’s injuries.

“Hey, guys,” the calm voice of one of the paramedics interjected. “We are going to load your friend onto the ambulance and take him to the hospital. He needs to go right now.” They had put an oxygen mask over Walt’s mouth and nose, and it was hard to even tell it was Walt anymore.

“I’m riding along,” Ray stated.

The EMT nodded. “That’s fine, but you’ll have to stay to one side so I can work.”

Ray turned away from Schwetje, from his friends, and from _Matilda’s_ and followed the stretcher to the ambulance. The rest of them huddled, ignoring Schwetje’s continued complaints. It was practically unbelievable what had just happened.

Doc said, “We need to make this right.”

“I’ll go to the police station and make sure things get handled properly,” Patterson said, massaging his knuckles.

“I’m gonna call Sixta, so we can deal with the personnel issues,” Kocher said, indicating the still-whining Schwetje who was examining himself in the bathroom mirror.

“Some of us need to go to the hospital,” Brad said, looking at Nate. “Ray is going to need someone to be there.” Nate put a hand on Brad’s back and left it there.

Everyone nodded. It was obvious. Walt needed Ray. Ray needed Brad and all the rest of the _Matilda’s_ guys to keep him sane so he could do his job for Walt.

Nate pulled his car keys from his pocket, and said, “I’ll drive. You get on the hook with Godfather. He needs to know about this right now.”

****

The phone was ringing. Godfather rolled over and looked at the clock: 03:27. What in God’s good name was going on?

“I’ll get it,” he said to James, kissing his shoulder. He picked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“Sir, I’m sorry to have to call you so late, but it’s Walt. You need to come to the hospital.”

Godfather’s voice rasped more than usual in his sleep hazy state. “Brad? What happened?” He sat up in bed.

“Sir...”

“Was he injured at _Matilda’s_?”

At the sound of that, James rolled over with horror in his eyes. He searched Godfather’s face for information. Godfather held the phone away from his ear slightly to give James the chance to hear. James had always had a soft spot for Walt. Hell, everyone did.

“Sir... Walt was attacked in the alley behind the club. Ray broke it up somehow. I don’t know the details, but Ray made it sound like a hate attack.”

Godfather was silent. James had already sat up in bed and was staring wide-eyed at him. Tears were starting to form in his eyes.

“We’re on our way,” James said loudly enough for Brad to hear.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is adapted from a [Five Sentence Smut](http://fivesentencesmut.tumblr.com/post/10906779611/thommygirl-asked-generation-kill) fill.

_About 3.5 years ago_

Tim had dated a string of what he would later refer to as “average” guys. They all had steady jobs, enjoyed watching the game on Sundays, kept in pretty good shape. But they all seemed mind-numbingly boring when he thought back.

Obviously Bryan Patterson had changed Tim’s worldview and nothing was boring or average about Bryan Patterson. It seemed like everything about Patterson made Tim’s mouth water. Especially his tattoos. Tim wasn’t even sure he’d had anything that could have been called a kink before _Matilda’s_ introduced him to Patterson, but -- holy fuck -- now Tim had a goddamn Pavlovian response to the sight of Patterson’s tattooed skin.

Somewhere around the six-month mark of their relationship, before they’d moved in together, Tim had an extremely good thought.

“You should get your nipples pierced,” Tim said, giving one a pinch. They were laying on Tim’s bed, sore and exhausted from a fucking that Tim was going to feel for days.

“Should I, now?” Patterson’s voice sounded vaguely indulgent.

Tim grunted something that could have been “yes,” but he was already falling asleep.

The following Thursday night, Patterson knocked on Tim’s door. When Tim opened it, Patterson pushed his way in, wrestling him into a deep kiss.

“You’re not wasting any time tonight, are--”

Tim was momentarily struck silent -- perhaps it was the Pavlovian mouth watering that did it -- when Patterson stripped off his shirt. There, glinting through his nipples, was Patterson’s new jewelry. He’d actually gotten them pierced. He’d gotten pierced because Tim had suggested it. Tim’s jaw clenched in an attempt to maintain at least a modicum of self-control.

When he finally spoke, it was at least half an octave lower than usual, nearing the growl that Patterson used when Tim had to obey.

“Fucking goddamn, Sir. Into the bedroom. Pronto.”

Tim spent the evening worshiping every inch of Patterson. He wanted desperately to give special attention to Patterson’s nipples. They’d be so sensitive now. But Tim knew he’d have to refrain until they healed. Until then, he’d find hundreds of ways to convey his appreciation.

The next morning, Patterson rolled over with a lazy smile on his face when he heard Tim on the phone.

“Hey, Godfather. It’s Tim. Patterson is taking today and the rest of the weekend off. Forget about why. Just call it Doctor’s orders.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Saturday, predawn_

The sirens were louder than Ray had expected. It felt like they were piercing his brain when he needed to be focused on Walt. Walt, who was buried under a horrible array of tubes, masks, bandages, bruises, blood...

Ray felt his chest clenching up. He put a few of his fingers onto a few of Walt’s unresponsive ones, not giving a fuck if the EMT thought that was kosher. Walt was going to need to see a familiar face and feel that his friends were close, right?

“Kid,” the paramedic said.

Ray tried to ignore him. He wasn’t letting go of Walt’s hand so the guy could fuck off. Ray tried to tick off a list of things that weren’t that bad: Walt was breathing on his own.

And...

Maybe that was the only thing on the list. Why couldn’t he just open his eyes? Ray would light his vinyl on fire if that was the devil’s bargain to get Walt to crack that smile, the one that makes Ray’s mind go momentarily blank. He ran his thumb over Walt’s fingertips, remembering how they’d felt running across the side of his head in the hallway.

Ray pulled in a ragged breath. When Walt did wake up, Ray was definitely planning on yelling at him and then kissing the everloving fuck out of him.

“KID. Look at me.”

Ray looked up from Walt, pissed and panicky. “Jesus! WHAT? I’m not letting go of his hand, so--”

“Let me look at your chest. You’re bleeding.”

Ray didn’t know what the guy was talking about. “What? Are you kidding me right now? You need to be fixing Walt for fuck’s sake!”

The EMT put a gloved hand firmly on Ray’s arm.

“Listen to me. Your friend is stable. We’ll be at the hospital in less than five minutes and the doctors will take over. This,” the EMT pointed at a panel of lights, “will alarm if his breathing or heartrate changes significantly. If that happens, I promise to completely ignore you. Ok?”

Ray sputtered, still wanting the guy to fix Walt somehow, “But I’m not even--”

Ray looked down. His t-shirt had a gaping hole in it and he hadn’t even noticed. The part of his shirt that was drooping down by his navel was soaked with blood. He pushed at it and then rubbed his bloody fingers together disbelievingly.

“Is that mine?” Ray asked about the blood. He finally registered a hot, dull pain across his upper chest.

“Yeah, it is. You have a gash on your chest. Let me look.”

Ray pivoted on the bench seat so he was facing the EMT directly, still keeping an eye toward Walt and that critical panel of lights. He finally noticed the name Alex Aubin on the guy’s ID badge. If Walt made it through this, Ray would personally bake this dude some cookies.

Alex stretched the hole in Ray’s shirt open wider and started at him with some gauze. It stung like a motherfucker. How could he not have noticed getting cut?

“It must have been the guy with the knife,” Ray said, realizing a few seconds later that this was probably self-evident. His voice sounded a million miles away, and he gently touched Walt’s dirty, bloody hand again with his fingertips to keep himself anchored to what was important. “I went after him because of...”

“You’re going to need a couple of stitches. Probably should update your tetanus shot. It’s not too bad. Think of it this way, now you and your boyfriend are going to have matching scars.”

Ray’s eyes shot to Walt’s chest. There, under all of the monitoring equipment, was a long cut along one clavicle. Alex had taped it with adhesive sutures. Ray hadn’t even noticed.

“He’s... not my boyfriend,” Ray said quietly.

Alex raised his eyebrows and silently grinned.

****

Doc and Patterson had driven separately so Patterson could break off toward the police station if necessary. Presumably Kocher was back at _Matilda’s_ showing Schwetje the door with a stiff kick in the ass as his severance. That left Brad riding in silent, pressure cooker tension in Nate’s passenger seat and Nate with no backup to deal with a guy who should have felt like a stranger. But Nate didn’t need any backup because Brad didn’t actually feel like a stranger. None of the _Matilda’s_ guys did. Nate was all in after less than twelve hours, and it wasn’t just because he had been about to go home with Brad. What had Q-Tip said at _Brunmeier’s_?: “Us _Matilda’s_ boys stick together, yo.”

Nate was going to pull his weight on this. The possibility that he’d need to make a larger contribution than the rest of them was real, considering that he didn’t know Walt as well as the other guys and they’d be pretty fucked up by this attack. Then again, Walt seemed to make everyone fall in love with him at first sight, whether romantically or platonically. Nate knew he was no exception. Seeing Walt laying on that ambulance gurney had been like seeing a brother there.

They hit another in a long line of red lights, and Brad exhaled hard out his nostrils, obviously frustrated. He was staring steadily out the windshield. His whole body was tense.

Nate had started making plans: Call Walt’s family; get his overnight bag; help with the logistics of replacing a barback, a DJ, and a bouncer on a Saturday night...

Nate started at the beginning. “Who else do we need to call? His parents?”

“Dead since the summer after he graduated from high school.”

Nate felt slightly abashed even though there was no way he could have known that. Still, it felt like pouring salt on Walt’s wounds. _Matilda’s_ really was Walt’s family.

Nate sighed. “Should we stop by his place and get a change of clothes?”

“If anything, we should be trying to track down the third attacker,” Brad said immediately. To Nate, Brad’s icy exterior was a poor disguise for the pain he knew was underneath.

“Brad, I don’t think--”

“You barely know Walt,” Brad said quietly, but it felt like an angry yell. “That kid is like a brother to me, and I need to fix this.”

“You’re right. I barely know Walt,” Nate said. The volume of his voice did not rise, but the intensity sharpened. “I am just saying _we_ should fix what _we_ can tonight.”

Nate put the car in neutral and pulled the emergency brake, ignoring the fact that the light had turned green. No one was on the street. It didn’t matter, and he needed to deal with this with Brad.

Brad’s voice came out as a growl of hate, “Those piece of shit rapists--”

“Brad! You need to snap to! You are not going on some sort of witch hunt. You don’t even know where to look for that guy. You’re going to have to let Patterson take point on whatever that’s going to look like with the cops. Tomorrow -- tonight -- is going to be hard, so you need to get your shit together. For _Matilda’s_. For Walt.”

For a moment, Brad looked like he might punch Nate in the mouth.

“FUCK!” Brad roared, frustrated. The light turned red again. “I know it. Fuck, I know, Nate.” Brad looked back out the windshield, unsatisfied but in control again. “I need to be at the hospital for Ray. We can get Walt his stuff after we find out what his condition is.”

Nate nodded. Brad needed to be there for Ray, and Nate thought he should be there to buoy up Brad.

The light turned green. When Nate got the car up into fourth, he moved his hand to Brad’s knee. His first day at _Matilda’s_ had turned into a lot more than he’d been expecting.

****

The doctor was unwilling to give them any information about Walt’s condition, and Ray was starting to look like he was going to beat the crap out of the next person who denied him. One of the nurses had at least taken enough pity on him to give him the shirt from some scrubs to wear since his other one was ruined.

Nate decided he should make the call.

“Hello?” said a sleepy drawl.

“Mike, I need your help.”

“Nate? What’s going on? Wait... why aren’t you home?”

“I’ll give you the details later, but I’ll summarize by saying one of my coworkers got attacked after work and we’re at the hospital.”

“Shit. Helluva first day? What do you need?”

“You coming in later?”

“Yeah, my shift starts at 08:00. What time is it now?” Gunny’s voice was made mushy by a yawn.

“It’s not quite 4:15. Do you think you could come in early? The doctor isn’t giving any information to the guys about Walt’s condition.”

“Because y’all aren’t immediate family.”

“Walt’s parents are dead. These _Matilda’s_ guys are his family.”

“But they’re a bunch of gay guys and the doctor is a bigot,” Gunny said with a distinct note of disgust in his voice.

“Accurate.”

“Let me shower and then I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Mike. I owe you.”

****

The cops handed Kocher Ray’s bag.

“This belong to the hero kid?”

Kocher nodded. “He went to the hospital in the ambulance. Cut up on his chest, so he’ll be getting some stitches for his valor,” Kocher replied, still proud and amazed that Ray had downed those guys.

Kocher had called Sixta, who was in the other room loudly dismissing Schwetje. Now Kocher was anxious to get to the hospital.

The cop wasn’t quite done. “Tell the kid...”

“Ray Person.”

“Tell Mr. Person that someone from the department will be coming to take his statement soon.”

“Yessir.”

“Hope your buddy is ok.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Kocher said. Really, _Matilda’s_ got fucking lucky that these two -- and not some redneck bigots -- were the cops who’d responded. Kocher only hoped the detectives would end up being as good. Patterson would be on top of that, Kocher hoped.

He shoved shirts from Walt’s and Ray’s lockers into Ray’s bag and checked for Ray’s phone. Then he jumped on his bike and gunned it for the hospital. He might have gone through a couple of very yellow lights.

At the Emergency Room, he slowed his run to the elevator when he heard a man say Walt’s name.

“Mornin’, sweetheart. I’ve been called in on the Hasser case. This one is probably going to make the papers,” the man said to the nurse at the reception desk in a pronounced Texas twang.

Kocher wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a woman bat her eyelashes in real life before but that was what was happening presently. Kocher took a better look at [the guy](http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2831123456/nm0578766). Shaggy hair, a couple of days worth of beard, leather jacket like he’d just gotten off his own motorcycle. Dude looked like he should be living in a mountain cabin. The guy was obviously pushing eyelash-flapper’s gossip buttons because she perked up in a hurry at the mention of the news.

“Neurology. 742A. What happened?” She whispered the last part.

“Thank you, Rochelle.” He gave her an amazingly sincere smile but avoided her question.

Kocher followed him into the elevator. “You’re either a journalist or Walt’s doctor. For your sake, it better be the latter.” It was Kocher’s job to be suspicious, and now was the absolute worst time for the press to be hanging around.

Mountain Man met Kocher’s eyes directly, despite Kocher’s clear threat. “Not a journalist. Y’all won’t have to worry about that at the hospital. Security is good here.”

“You’re his doctor then,” Kocher said, trying to get to the point.

“Not exactly, but Rochelle sure as hell didn’t need to know the specifics on that if I was going to get the info I wanted. You from _Matilda’s_?”

Kocher’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. What do you mean ‘not exactly.’”

“Nate Fick is my roommate.”

“No shit?” Suddenly Kocher felt friendlier as things started clicking into place.

“No shit. He called me in to try to help get some answers for you guys, but I’m not technically assigned to Walt.” He leaned slightly toward Kocher when he spoke, emphasizing the confidential nature of this operation, and smirked.

“No fucking shit. College Boy is having quite a night, dancing like he did and then calling in the cavalry.” And having the cavalry be a roommate like this one. Kocher’s eyes darted down briefly to see the rest of the package. “Does he do that yoga at home?”

“He did the yoga? Probably called it “warming up,” didn’t he? That bastard knew exactly what he was doing, I promise you,” he laughed and gave Kocher a once over.

Kocher actually grinned despite all the heavy shit that had happened tonight. Dr. Mountain Man grinned back since it was hard to resist Kocher’s million watt smile and dimples. Kocher knew it too, and didn’t hold back despite the inappropriate timing. He introduced himself, and Gunny reciprocated with a handshake.

“You’re the... head of security?” Gunny asked, using the question’s content to look Kocher over again.

Kocher pulled aside his jacket to give Gunny a look at his sidearm.

“Uh huh,” Gunny said unsurprised, though he looked suitably impressed. “I’ll tell you then, if what I read between the lines of Nate’s phone call is true, the cops are going to come and lean on Walt for a statement. Sexual assault kit too. He might get lucky and get a good detective, but chances are just as good that he won’t. I need you or whoever you think is the right one of your guys to help him through it. Faster he gets that part done, faster he can work on putting this behind him.”

Kocher nodded. “Agreed. Thanks for the heads up.”

Kocher’s mind went to his days in the military and thought his time in uniform would have been better if this one had been his corpsman. Gunny’s obvious competence was piquing his interest. And Gunny’s hands had been warm and rough during that handshake. Kocher wondered if he did indeed have a bike and did his own work on it. He filed that question away for later.

“So, College Boy’s _room_ mate?” Considering the display that Brad and Nate were putting on earlier, Kocher was simply verifying something he already knew.

“Yep. I mean, _no_. Two separate bedrooms, not as in...” Gunny practically stumbled over his tongue he blurted that out so fast.

Kocher grinned again and the elevator doors slid open.

****

It was less than 40 minutes after the phone call that Gunny arrived up the elevator with Kocher at his side.

“Thanks for coming in, Mike. Whatever you can do,” Nate said.

They walked over to the rest of the _Matilda’s_ guys in the waiting area. Ray was pacing. Brad had taken a place near the door so he could see if the doctor or nurses were coming with more information, any information. Godfather had his arm around Mattis’ shoulders while Mattis blotted the corners of his eyes with Godfather’s handkerchief. Patterson was quietly on his phone with the police. Doc walked up with a bunch of coffees right then.

“Guys? This is my flatmate, Mike Wynn.”

“Everyone calls me Gunny,” he said, nodding a somber hello to the men.

“Mike is a internal medicine resident here.”

“I can’t make any promises, but I’m gonna try to get y’all some information on your friend.”

Immediately the tension in the group deflated to be replaced by wary optimism.

Gunny asked, “Who’s the attending?”

Ray answered, “Some fuckhead homophobe named Griego.”

“Ah, shit,” Gunny said. “All right. I’ll see what I can do to keep his stupidity from rollin’ down on your friend. No promises, but I’ll give it my best.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Nate said.

Gunny headed down the hall.

Patterson hung up his phone. “Ray, the cops need to take your statement ASAP. You up to it?”

“The cops at _Matilda’s_ said someone would be coming here to find you,” Kocher added.

“The sooner I do it, the more it’ll help Walt.”

Patterson nodded. Ray nodded back, and Patterson dialed his phone again.

Ray turned to Nate. “You really think that your roommate is gonna be able to help?”

Nate shrugged. “There’s no way for me to know that, but Mike’s good and it’s worth a try.”

Godfather squeezed Mattis’ shoulders, stood and approached Nate. “Thanks, Fick. _Matilda’s_ owes you.”

****

“Ray?”

Nate and Doc approached Ray where he was pacing. He had bitten the fingernails of his right hand down to the quick.

“Ray,” Nate said again. “Hey, why don’t you sit for a while.”

Ray kept pacing. Nate and Doc shared a look. Ray needed to stop this. He should sit between them and they’d listen while he told them about Walt or cried or whatever the fuck he needed to do. Ray had already done more than any normal person would have -- taking out three guys with his bare hands -- but it was like he couldn’t NOT be in there with Walt.

Doc tried. “You’re making yourself crazy.”

Ray stopped in his tracks and held out a warning finger at them. “Do _not_.”

****

Gunny had done some kind of magic. He hadn’t been gone for more than 15 minutes as far as Brad could figure. But here he came, back to the waiting room, with an extremely unhappy looking man at his side. Brad wondered how many favors Gunny had to call in -- he was just a resident, Nate said -- and how long Nate would have to clean the john at their apartment to make up for it. At this point, Brad would go over there with his own toothbrush to help.

All of the _Matilda’s_ guys stood, waiting in tense silence to hear the verdict.

Dr. Griego gave them the update: Walt was almost certainly going to be fine physically, but they needed to keep him for observation and cognitive tests to confirm.

“We can’t tell yet if there was any additional damage done to the patient when he was moved. That was inadvisable.”

Brad went ramrod straight and bristled at the thought that this toad of a doctor was audacious enough to try to blame any of this on Ray. Nate put a hand on his arm and shook his head slightly.

“Let Mike handle it,” Nate whispered.

Brad backed down reluctantly, mostly because Ray started to open his mouth to ask if they could go in to see him. Gunny held up a hand to keep Ray quiet for the moment.

“And... Mr. Person, and _only_ Mr. Person, may stay with Mr. Hasser,” Dr. Griego grudgingly said.

Griego retreated as quickly as he had arrived. Brad hoped he was going somewhere to unfuck his bedside manner, but as long as Walt was going to be ok Brad didn’t much care.

Mattis was crying again, but this time he was smiling with relief. Godfather had him in a strong embrace, and was kissing the tears off his cheeks. Brad watched them uneasily. Walt, the New York guy, and Mattis’ own history... It added up to a lot for James, and Brad was wondering if he was going to make it much longer before bailing to the Keys. What was that going to mean for the cabaret? Or for _Matilda’s_? Godfather would definitely go with James if James needed to leave.

Brad ran a hand over his face. Right now, thinking about Mattis and Godfather was not productive. His nerves were fried. He couldn’t tell anymore if he was overreacting.

A nurse came to escort Ray to Walt’s room. Godfather and Mattis looked exhausted. Hell, they all looked exhausted. There wasn’t anything else to do here except wait, but Brad knew they’d have to be up and moving in a few hours to open _Matilda’s_ for Saturday night.

“Gentlemen,” Brad said, since Godfather was too distracted to take the lead. “Go get some sleep. Ray will call us if anything else comes up.” If Ray didn’t, Brad felt confident that Gunny would.

Brad plucked at Nate’s shirt sleeve and motioned toward the elevator. Nate nodded, looking like he wished there was something else he could do here. Brad understood the feeling. They walked back to the car silently.

Nate started driving back toward _Matilda’s_. “Where is your place?”

“A couple blocks from the club. You and Gunny--”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Yes, I got that. If it hadn’t been evident from our dance earlier, the fact that Gunny gave Kocher his card--”

“He did?” Nate laughed. “Fucking finally. I was starting to think he had taken a vow of celibacy along with the Hippocratic Oath.”

“You have a place over by the university?”

Nate nodded. “Near the north end of campus by the other hospital.”

“You should stay at my place instead of driving all the way back over there.”

“Brad--”

“You’re worried I’m going to take advantage of you?” The tension over Walt was receding into the background enough that Brad felt like a little flirting wouldn’t do any harm, particularly with the guy who had salvaged the night with a single phone call.

Nate smirked and looked Brad over before putting his eyes back on the road. “I’m not worried _about_ you, Brad. I’m worried _for_ you.”

Brad laughed then -- really laughed -- and it felt fucking good.

****

Ray sat next to Walt’s hospital bed. The dim light of the bedside lamp was the only light in the dark, predawn room, and in it Walt’s bruised, swollen face looked horrifyingly ruined. Ray felt his eyes prickle. His hand shot out and stroked over the back of Walt’s hand, carefully avoiding the taped-in IV feed.

The cops had come to take his statement -- Patterson and Doc had stayed with him for that -- and they’d scraped under Walt’s fingernails for evidence. Ray had told the detectives that Walt had been fighting back. God, he’d been so proud of Walt for fighting that it made him feel like he’d barf sunshine on the cop’s loafers if the guy didn’t get out of his face immediately. He’d said as much before Patterson put an end to the interrogation.

Ray knew the fingernail evidence thing was standard in sexual assault cases -- rapes -- and that was when the gut wrenching feeling took over his body. He dropped Walt’s hand and ran to the bathroom. He wretched into the sink once. Nothing came up but a cold sweat on Ray’s neck and face.

<< _I shouldn’t have stayed to start the music for Brad and Nate. I should have just held my piss until I got home instead of hitting the head. I should have stopped pouting and followed him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have been..._ >> Ray retched again. He made himself think the word, bent over the sink and panting. << _Raped._ >>

Ray filled a shallow, curved container from a shelf in the bathroom with warm, soapy water. He slowly brought it and a washcloth back out to Walt’s bed. Walt had been unconscious for hours at this point, and Ray wasn’t sure if he should be hopeful or not despite what Dr. Griego had said. It made him feel like he was dying.

He picked up Walt’s left hand, still dirt-smudged and smeared with traces of blood.

<< _Why the FUCK didn’t the nurses clean him up?_ >> Ray thought angrily, but his touch on Walt’s skin was gentle.

Ray wet the cloth and squeezed out the excess water. Then he pressed it gently onto Walt’s palm. He let the moisture loosen the dirt before he slowly wiped it away. He washed every part of Walt’s hand and forearm that he could reach without disturbing the tubes and cords and shit. Then he moved to the other side of the bed and started on Walt’s right hand. The cloth was dirty, and the sight of it made Ray choke a horrible noise in his throat. Tears ran down and dripped from the tip of his nose onto the sheets next to Walt’s hand.

Ray soldiered on, rubbing the washcloth over Walt’s skin with consuming, pessimistic thoughts that only formed in his mind as howling words like _END_ and _NO_ and _CAN’T_. Eventually, he set aside the water and rested his forehead on the back of Walt’s hand, holding it there with his own hands. Now that Walt was clean, Ray could _almost_ think things were ok. He fell into a dreamless sleep while the tears dried on his face.

****

Brad led Nate up the stairs to the apartment he shared with Ray. He was still wrapping his head around how lucky they were that Nate was part of _Matilda’s_ now and that he had Gunny. It made everything better, easier. Maybe Walt really would be ok.

“How do you think Ray is doing?” Nate asked.

“He’s probably pretty fucked up,” Brad said bluntly. “Ray can go pretty dark. He’s too smart, so I guarantee you that he’s there thinking of every possible scenario, including the bad ones despite what Gunny and Dr. Griego said.”

Nate nodded. “Walt’s lucky to have him though.”

“That’s for fucking sure. Ray is the most loyal motherfucker I have ever met. There is no way we would have been able to drag him away from there once the doctor said he could stay.”

Nate pulled out his phone and sent a text. “I’ll have Mike look in on him. If he gets too--” Nate tapped his forehead and widened his eyes, “--he’ll call us.” Brad was grateful.

Dawn was clearly on the horizon now. They were both tired beyond tired, but here they were, alone in Brad’s apartment.

“Listen, Nate. I just want to say thanks.”

Nate walked over and put his hands on Brad’s biceps.

“Go. Take a shower and get a little sleep. I’ll take the couch. We can pick this up later.”

“Showers later, and you’re not taking the couch, Nate.” Brad’s hands came to rest on Nate’s waist.

Nate gave a half smile. “Watch yourself, Brad.”

“Why is that?”

“I steal the covers.”

“Is that a ploy so I’ll stay close for warmth?”

Nate’s eyebrows twitched. Brad walked him backward into the bedroom, eyes on his eyes.

“How are _you_ doing, though? I know you have taken the role of den mother to these guys,” Nate said.

The back of Nate’s knees hit the bed and he sat down on it. Brad’s hands landed on either side of Nate’s hips. He put his nose against the side of Nate’s neck and breathed in deeply.

“I’m fine,” Brad said. He was not interested in talking about that feeling of helplessness he’d had when they opened the alley door a few hours ago.

“You’d better get used to me then. I’m your shadow until I know you’re not going to end up in jail for feeling ‘fine.’”

Fuck if Nate didn’t see right through him, but he still didn’t want to talk about it. Brad ran his lips over Nate’s ear. “Does that mean you’ll be staying more than tonight?”

Nate didn’t answer, but he did pull Brad closer by the front of his shirt.

“Clothes off,” Brad said. “I might not be fucking you right now, but I do have rules about what gets worn in my bed.”

“Well, since it’s a rule,” Nate said and stripped off his shirt. He reached over and grabbed the hem of Brad’s and pushed it up to his pecs. Brad’s dogtags jingled as Brad pulled it the rest of the way off. Nate was already working on Brad’s belt.

“You are not going to make this easy on me, are you?” Brad asked. Despite his exhaustion, Nate’s touch on his abs was enough to make his body take notice.

“Hey, I’m going to have to lie next to your tattooed back,” Nate said.

“You’ve got a thing for tattoos?”

“I’ve got a thing for this tattoo,” Nate said, pushing on Brad’s hips and turning him. Nate ran a few fingers over Brad’s lower back. He kissed him there.

“Nate,” Brad said softly. If Nate didn’t stop...

Nate manhandled Brad onto the bed. Nate was leaning over him now, and the urge to kiss him was intense. But now wasn’t the time. Even though Brad hadn’t had sex in too fucking long and he had the night’s hottest guy in his bed, obviously willing, now wasn’t the time. His eyes must have read this because Nate nodded.

Brad shucked his jeans instead. Nate stood and followed suit. Brad’s eyes drank him in. Fuck, did he wish the circumstances were different.

“Come here,” Brad said.

A very naked, very, _very_ appealing Nate climbed under the covers with Brad. They laid face-to-face, Nate’s fingers rubbing soothing circles onto Brad’s lower back. It was too much for Brad to look at Nate’s face -- he was too fucking pretty and, despite everything, Brad was too fucking horny -- so he closed his eyes. Brad draped an arm over Nate’s waist, grateful for someone close when his roommate and his little brother were at the hospital.

They fell asleep that way, lips almost meeting in a kiss.

****

Brad woke up with the late morning sun across his face. Nate’s warm ass was pressed into his hip, and Brad had almost no covers on. Nate had warned him.

He rolled over and snuggled against Nate’s back. Brad let himself drift toward sleep for a few minutes, but the sun was too bright. And Nate felt too fucking good. Brad tried not to think about how well they fit together. Instead, he pressed a kiss onto the back of Nate’s neck and got up.

Brad went to the bathroom and stared at his still-tired face in the mirror. He needed a shave. He glanced back at Nate in his bed; he also really needed to get fucked. The devil on Brad’s shoulder said there was absolutely nothing wrong with some sex. There was a fuckhot guy in his bed. Work didn’t start for at least a couple of hours. It had been too long since he’d come. But the angel on his other shoulder won this battle with a simple sentence: Walt is in the hospital.

Brad took another look at Nate before he took a tepid shower. Then he went out to the kitchen to figure out Ray’s 400-button coffee contraption.

****

Nate woke when he felt the bed sink as Brad sat on the edge. He rolled onto his back and stretched.

“Hmmm, mornin’,” Nate croaked and smiled up at Brad. “You showered.”

“I should have used up all the hot water considering you stole the blankets.”

Nate sat up, grinning. “I did warn you.”

“You did indeed. I will take a defensive posture next time.”

“Hmm,” was all Nate said to that, but he was quietly enthusiastic about the prospect of a next time. The smell of coffee wafted over and perked Nate up some more. Brad handed him a cup.

“Help me make some phone calls,” Brad said.

“Who are we calling?”

“Everyone.”

****

Everyone -- meaning the _Matilda’s_ crew and a few key extras -- came in early, just after lunch. Q-Tip, Christeson, Lilley, Poke, Rudy, and Pappy had been told about Walt on the phone. They were all versions of tense, sad, and furious as they waited for the meeting to begin. In particular, Q-Tip and Lilley were ready to fuck shit up. Rudy calmed them down for now, but no one was sure that the uneasy quiet would last.

They pulled a circle of chairs together. Sixta sat on Godfather’s right side, and James sat on Godfather’s left. All three of them had life-weary looks on their faces. Brad wondered again about the future of _Matilda’s_ and _Bravo Cabaret_.

Patterson stood up. “As you know, last night Walt was violently assaulted in the alley. Ray interrupted the attack and subdued two of the men. He’s at the hospital with Walt now. Schwetje did not perform his regular sweep of the alley. Kocher did it instead and assisted Ray. Schwetje has been terminated from _Matilda’s_.”

There were murmurs of “fucking idiot” and “kick his ass” from Q-Tip and Lilley.

“Nate called in his roommate, Dr. Mike Wynn, and he’s making sure we get all of the information we need about Walt’s condition. Our last update was early this morning. Walt’s still unconscious but expected to make a full recovery.”

Mattis sniffled. Godfather tightened his arm around his shoulders.

Patterson continued, “I’ve been in hourly contact with the police. A third man got away, and they’ve taken Ray’s statement to try to identify him.”

“Kocher didn’t see him?” Christeson asked quietly. He turned to Kocher and asked again, “Kocher, you didn’t see him?”

Kocher shook his head. “Ray had subdued the guys and was pulling Walt back to the employee door when I got to the alley. The other guy was already gone. No one passed me on the Collins Ave. side, so he must have gone out the back.”

Patterson nodded. “The police confirmed that they are already canvassing that area to see if any witnesses can verify this.”

There was an uneasy pause while everyone waited for Godfather to say something. When he didn’t Brad cleared his throat.

“Listen, guys,” Brad started, “All of us feel like shit about this. I saw Walt talking to one of those bastards and my internal alarms didn’t go off. No one’s did except Ray’s.”

There was nodding around the group.

“I remember--,” Mattis started. His voice cracked and he cleared it. “In May. I remember the sweetest thing that Walt did.”

The group quieted. It seemed like the right thing to do to listen; like a tribute to Walt.

> James had gone to the airport with Godfather to see him off to New York. He was going up before Fleet Week to get _Devil Dog’s_ in order. It was only a week, but still James felt terribly lonely as soon as Godfather disappeared into the terminal.
> 
> That evening, Walt dashed over to _Bravo Cabaret_ from _Matilda’s_. Jenn was putting the final touches on her make-up when he came into the dressing room. She looked at Walt in the mirror.
> 
> “I came over to see if _Bravo_ had an extra bottle of Kahlua and I thought I’d stop back here and say hi before I went back. You’re looking very beautiful tonight, Jenn.”
> 
> Jenn turned on her stool. No one could resist Walt’s smile, especially not a lonely, old drag queen like herself.
> 
> “Walt Hasser, you are the sweetest thing this side of the Mason-Dixon.”
> 
> “Is everything ok? You look a little...”
> 
> “Oh, you know. Godfather is up in New York and I’m just rattling around our house. It gets too quiet there when he’s gone and I don’t like it one bit.”
> 
> Walt’s smile got brighter. “I have a solution for that. Would you meet me for lunch tomorrow? I have an errand for us to run together.”
> 
> Jenn felt somehow better already. She put on a look of mock surprise. “Young man! Are you suggesting something lacking in propriety while my husband is away?”
> 
> Walt laughed. “You’ll see. I’ll pick you up at 11:30.”
> 
> The next day, they had a lovely lunch at one of the Cuban cafes. They talked about everything: Walt growing up on the farm; Stonewall; how James met Godfather; the weather. But James knew today’s outing wasn’t only about keeping him company over cafe con leches.
> 
> “What do you have up your sleeve?”
> 
> “Oh, he’s not up my sleeve.”
> 
> Then, of course, James’ curiosity spiked. “HE is not up your sleeve? What does that mean?”
> 
> “You’ll see,” Walt smiled again. He looked at his watch. “Let’s go. They’ll be open now.”
> 
> Twenty minutes later, they were pulling up in front of the Humane Society. Walt preemptively started explaining before he’d even parked the car.
> 
> “I know a girl who works here. Just come inside. Petting the dogs... if it doesn’t make you feel better, then you’re hopeless.”
> 
> James smiled at Walt’s boyish idea for an outing, but in the end he had been right. James fell in love with a [white chihuahua](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NOZvgmFbxbE/TZxPV-qRmNI/AAAAAAAADLU/05tD6FAT0Pw/s1600/puppy_love3.jpg) that had a brown spot on her side that looked distinctly like a heart.

“I adopted her right then,” Mattis said, blotting his eyes again. “The next day Walt came by with a sparkly collar that said _PRINCESS_. The note he’d written said, “For my favorite queen.”

“Even I love that fucking rat of a dog,” Godfather said quietly.

Christeson raised his head from where he’d been resting it on Q-Tip’s shoulder and they looked into each other’s eyes.

“Us too,” Christeson said.

“He went with us when we got Meesh,” Q-Tip said about their pet cat. “Dude has some sort of thing with animals.”

Lilley piped up. “Maybe that explains his choice in men.”

It was funny, because it was true, for about two seconds, but then it wasn’t. It was too close to blaming Walt for the shit that had happened to him.

Then, for the next thirty minutes they went around the group sharing stories about how ridiculously awesome Walt was. How he’d ended up cleaning Rudy and Pappy’s house from attic to basement the time that they’d just asked him to housesit for two days. How he’d hooked Lilley up with guys (“Really fucking good lays, too”) at least half a dozen times. How Sixta didn’t think he’d ever complained about Walt’s work, and that had to be a first. How Walt had brought in a thermos of tea and given Nate a detailed walk-through of _Matilda’s_ inner workings just a few days ago.

Brad leaned over and whispered in Nate’s ear. “I am fairly certain that he and Ray were proud of themselves for our introduction.”

Nate smiled. Of course they had been. He squeezed Brad’s knee.

“Your turn,” Doc said to Patterson. He was standing behind Patterson’s chair, and Patterson turned to look up at him.

Patterson smiled fondly. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

Patterson shrugged and chuckled. He turned back to the group. “I’ve been given an order,” he joked. Doc just maintained his standard expression of superiority and mild annoyance, although his hands did come to rest on Patterson’s shoulders. Patterson smiled knowingly.

“Alright. This would have been a couple of weeks after Walt started here last summer. Tim and I had excused ourselves up to the business office,” Patterson said. A predatory smile was emerging on his face as he took a moment to remember that night and consider how much of it he should share with the group.

> Patterson loved the dichotomy that was Doc Bryan. No one would ever think Doc was anything but the toppiest, grumpiest fucker around, but Patterson had unearthed something else. Under it all, Patterson marveled that he’d found such a perfect man; someone who was strong, genius-level smart, incredibly loyal, and kinky as fuck. Doc had fallen into the lifestyle like he’d subbed for years, and that felt like a gift from Doc to Patterson. The big picture was that Patterson owned Doc and Doc most definitely owned Patterson.
> 
> Tonight, Patterson had worn his tall, lace-up boots underneath his suit. They went all the way up to his knees, a bit incongruous with his button-front shirt and jacket, but he knew how much Doc got off on them and he liked to give Doc things like this. Doc was going to be the only person who knew what was under the legs of his trousers.
> 
> Patterson arrived late and found Doc in the dressing room.
> 
> “Pardon me, sir, but fucking finally,” Doc said, looking up from his sketchbook of ideas for the Halloween bash in a few weeks. Patterson saw Doc’s eyes twinkle; this was feigned annoyance.
> 
> “What can I say? Opposing counsel was a long-winded, pretentious, spray tanned idiot who kept dropping the fact that he’d gone to Yale law into the proceedings. My fucking nightmare. Although he did look quite nice in his three piece suit...”
> 
> Patterson was smirking as he pulled Doc into his arms. He poked at Doc’s jealous streak sometimes. Never too hard, but he loved when Doc’s possessiveness flared. Made for great fucking.
> 
> “I’m going to let that one slide since I saw what you’ve got on your feet. You can repay me for your tardiness by letting me show off you and your Tom Ford-covered ass out on the floor.”
> 
> On the dancefloor, Ray’s [music](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5OsSi1Qu3Wc) was making the crowd manic, Doc and Patterson included. The crowd was packed around them. Shirtless, eagerly available men pressed on them from all sides looking for a hook-up with one of the couples-in-residence at _Matilda’s_ \-- Patterson’s reputation went way back and there were some pretty wild rumors about Doc’s collection of toys, costumes, ropes... -- but Doc and Patterson were focused only on each other tonight. Doc had that ‘no sharing’ look on his face.
> 
> Patterson’s hands searched under the waistband of Doc’s pants to find the straps of the leather jock he was wearing. He took handfuls of Doc’s round ass into his hands and squeezed hard. Doc answered by biting Patterson’s stubbled jawline and grinding against him hard.
> 
> “Go,” was all Patterson said. They pushed through the crowd, Patterson walking Doc backward, tongues fucking the whole way up to the office.
> 
> He pushed Doc up against the wall next to the door. Their kiss was chaotic, messy, growling. The loud bass was buzzing through them like electricity, driving their lust even higher. These were the nights when they fucked until it hurt.
> 
> Doc ripped open Patterson’s shirt, losing some buttons in the process.
> 
> “You are going to pay for that, Tim.”
> 
> “I hope to,” Doc said.
> 
> Patterson suspected Doc knew exactly what he was doing: trolling for a bit of punishment. And Patterson knew it’d take Doc approximately 10 minutes to sew those buttons back on. It was a good exchange in Patterson’s estimation. He reached his hands up under Doc’s shirt and tugged at the rings through Doc’s nipples. Doc hissed, barely pulling out of their kiss.
> 
> “Is that all you’ve got?” Doc challenged, his lips moving against Patterson’s.
> 
> Patterson yanked open Doc’s pants and shoved them to his ankles. “Turn the fuck around. Hands on the wall.”
> 
> Patterson left Doc standing there, ass exposed while he went over to retrieve the lube from the desk. He came back and slapped Doc’s bottom hard enough to redden it.
> 
> “No, that is not all I’ve got, you insubordinate fuck.”
> 
> Doc’s face suddenly looked blissed out, and he wiggled his ass. “Well then, sir, show me.”
> 
> Patterson had a fleeting thought that Doc was giving him exactly what he needed. Doc was provoking Patterson into a little extra roughness so Patterson could forget his horrible work day. He dropped to say thank you for that by thrusting his tongue into the pucker of Doc’s ass. It was already slick with lube.
> 
> “You warmed up,” Doc said in that deep growl of commanding lust that always made Doc pliable, but he couldn’t help the note of fondness that crept in.
> 
> Doc looked back over his shoulder. “You were running late, and you know how much I hate to sit around and do nothing.”
> 
> “That’s a good boy,” Patterson said, sliding two lubed fingers into Doc. “That’s a very good boy. Next time I’ll leave these boots for you to spit shine. Now fuck my hand.”
> 
> Doc obeyed without hesitation and rocked back onto Patterson’s fingers using Ray’s [next song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZcxJCgOW9w) to give him his pace. Patterson added another and Doc moaned, cheek pressed against the faintly vibrating wall as he bore down on Patterson’s hand. Patterson pushed Doc’s t-shirt up his back. Doc was practically naked while Patterson manhandled him with only his shirt open.
> 
> “Ankles apart as far as you can get them,” Patterson ordered. He unzipped and pulled out his cock leaving his belt buckled and his suit coat on. He was already near full hardness at the sight of Doc’s ass. It took only a few strokes of his lube-slicked hand to get him there.
> 
> Doc arched his back to improve the angle and Patterson thrust in hard.
> 
> “Fuck,” Doc whispered, his voice rough with lust and the sharp pain of it. “Fuck, Bryan. Do it.”
> 
> Patterson slammed Doc against the wall. His thrusting hips drove Doc’s body flat. Patterson leaned hard against Doc, pressing his forehead against Doc’s temple and breathing horribly obscene things into his ear as he fucked him.
> 
> Doc was loud that night. It was Patterson’s fault, of course, and Walt should have heard and been warned off.
> 
> “I...” Walt said, stopping in the doorway and gaping. “Brad told me to... Oh.”
> 
> Doc and Patterson were too far gone to care that they had an unexpected audience. In fact, the sight of Walt’s soft mouth pushed Patterson faster. He leaned back and held Doc’s hips. Doc quietly moaned “yes.” Walt leaned against a filing cabinet and watched Doc start stroking himself.
> 
> “Like what you see?” Patterson asked. It made Walt blush, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, Walt’s hand twitched at his hip. He started clenching it into a fist as he watched Doc and Patterson fuck. Then he grabbed the side of his thigh and squeezed. Doc and Patterson watched every shy movement of the new guy’s hand. The focus that Patterson and Doc were leveling at him was making Walt look like he wanted to run away, but his feet didn’t move.
> 
> “Go ahead,” Patterson said.
> 
> Walt turned an even deeper shade of red. He gasped a little, but obeyed. He pushed the heel of his hand against the zipper of his jeans, letting it slide slowly downward. He repeated the motion and let out the smallest of whimpers.
> 
> Patterson thought he might praise the kid for following orders -- this one seemed like he’d get off on a bit of praise -- but then Doc’s ass clenched around his cock and Patterson had to hang on to Doc’s bucking hips.

Patterson said, “I won’t give you any of the details. Let’s just say Walt got an eyeful and he was intrigued. Doc told him something like, ‘the show was free, but don’t get any ideas, kid.’ Still, Walt followed us around for quite a while after that, wanting a piece.”

“Hence, Walt was dubbed Puppy,” Doc finished.

The guys laughed hard enough that not only Mattis was wiping his eyes.

Finally, the laughter subsided and the slightly hollow feeling came back. Walt was still in the hospital because something horrible had happened, and his _Matilda’s_ brothers hadn’t been able to protect him. With his hand on James’ shoulder, Godfather stood up and sighed. He addressed the men softly and without his usual commanding presence.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming in at short notice. Those stories that you just shared serve to reinforce what I have been thinking. We all need a minute, so _Matilda’s_ is going to be closed tonight. Possibly longer--”

A round chorus of “Sir! No!” went around the group. Brad felt the smile that had still been lingering from Patterson’s story fall from his face.

“Men, please. It’s more important for us to be with the people we love than to make a paycheck.”

Q-Tip and Lilley did most of the loud complaining, but everyone agreed: _Matilda’s_ shouldn’t close. It would be like Walt’s attackers had won.

“Sir. A word,” Brad said.

Godfather nodded reluctantly. “Everyone, go take a powder.”

Godfather followed Brad over to the bar and sat on one of the stools.

“Sir--”

“Brad, wait.” Godfather looked back at James, who still looked shaken from the events of the last 24 hours. “Look at him. You know he’s the absolute love of my life? I need to be with him right now.”

“I understand. You two should get out for a while, but don’t close the club. I can run it.”

“Yes, you can.” Godfather sighed. He looked long at James and then back at Brad for several long seconds. “Maybe you’re right.”

“T and Christeson have been wanting to headline for a while. Now is the time, sir.”

Godfather looked at Brad for another long moment and then nodded. “I’ll leave our contact information. Maybe I’ll take him to San Francisco. We have old friends there and it’ll be quiet. James’ PTSD...”

“Thank you, sir. _Matilda’s_ needs this.”

Godfather nodded again. He went back over to James and spoke quietly to him. A fresh flurry of tears sprung from his eyes, this time with a few desperate sobs. Godfather spoke quietly again and James nodded. With one last look back at Brad, the two left.

Brad whistled loudly and the men gathered at the bar.

“ _Matilda’s_ won’t be closing. However, Godfather and Mattis are going to take a short vacation so we need to keep shit running. Christeson, call Teren. You two are running _Bravo_. Q-Tip, you’re filling in for Ray--”

“Sweet!” Q-Tip had been hounding Ray for months to get a chance up in Ray’s booth.

“Poke, you’re running the VIP room, by yourself this time so you’re gonna have to be on your game. I’m going to borrow a couple of people from _Bravo_ : Manimal to bounce and the new busboy Trombley. He’s apparently worked as a barback, so he’ll be behind the bar with me.”

The group chattered excitedly. Nate caught Brad’s eyes and smiled a little.

“Listen up. Nate and I are going to go drop some clothes and stuff off for Walt at the hospital. You can come along or not, but be ready here an hour and a half earlier than usual so we can get shit sorted with the temp staff.”

****

Walt felt like he was swimming up out of a tar pit. It took ages for him to get his eyes open. When he finally did, the first thing Walt saw was Ray asleep in a chair next to his hospital bed, holding his hand. Walt tried to smile.

 


	8. Chapter 8

_ Saturday afternoon _

Nate and Brad left the meeting at _Matilda’s_ and made the quick drive over to Walt’s apartment on their way to the hospital. They’d been inside for about a minute -- Brad had gone straight to Walt’s closet to pull out a change of clothes -- when Brad’s phone buzzed. It was Ray.

_hes awake_

Brad was relieved beyond words as he showed the message to Nate. Maybe not until right now had Brad realized how paralyzed he’d been, worrying that Walt wasn’t going to ever wake up. The idea of Walt permanently gone had never come directly to the front of Brad’s mind, but it had been stalking around in the shadows. None of them would have ever really recovered from something like that. Now, things had unfucked themselves with two texted words.

Brad was laughing with nearly delirious relief. Screw that Iceman shit. He pulled Nate, whose smile was dazzlingly perfect, into a hug and clung to him as he laughed. Walt was going to be ok. Walt was going to be ok!

Nate slid his fingers through Brad’s belt loops. Brad could get lost in those green eyes; those green eyes whose owner was closing on Brad’s lips. And right about now Brad felt like celebrating.

Then Nate’s front pocket buzzed. Brad raised his eyebrow and smirked suggestively. Nate rolled his eyes.

“Left my vibrator at home,” Nate teased, reaching between them and pulling out his phone. “It’s Mike,” Nate said. Brad slung his arm around Nate so they could read the message together.

_Hasser conscious. Tests will take a few hours. Person less of a basketcase now._

Then, a moment later.

_He’s accosting the nurses with hugs. Come intervene if possible. There is singing._

Nate grabbed the stack of Walt’s clothes that Brad had pulled out and put them in a backpack. The moment that they’d almost had was gone for now. It was time to get to the hospital before Ray’s enthusiasm got him kicked out.

“Did you get Walt’s bathroom stuff?” Nate asked, holding the backpack out to Brad.

“Do you really have a vibrator?”

“Be nice, Brad.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Nate pushed a smirking Brad out the apartment door toward the car, pinching his butt on the way.

When they got to the hospital, they found Ray pacing in the hallway outside of Walt’s room. He was still kind of a basketcase despite what Gunny said. No nurses were in sight. Probably hiding. Brad couldn’t blame them. Ray’s excitement had been known to verge on mania.

“They’re doing a head CT. And then some kind of cognitive reasoning thing. They need to hurry the fuck up with it,” Ray said.

“Was he talking?” Brad asked.

“Yeah. I mean, other than having his face all fucked up and his shoulder, you’d barely know. He remembers everything until I got there, I think,” Ray said, voice cracking with emotion suddenly. “Fuck, Brad. Why did it have to be Walt?”

Brad put his hands on Ray’s arms, but he didn’t know what to say. There was no reason for it being Walt except that the world was a supremely shitty place sometimes. At least they had each other and _Matilda’s_ , but that sounded like cold comfort when Walt was still in the hospital.

Gunny walked up and saved Brad from having to say anything. “Hey. I just swung through the CT lab,” Gunny said.

“And?” Ray asked immediately, anxiously.

“Everything looks good there. No clotting or swelling. Tough buck, ain’t he? But, listen, does he live by himself?”

Brad and Ray nodded.

Gunny had a serious look on his face. “One of y’all needs to stay with him. Or someone else needs to do it. I’m pretty well certain that Griego will discharge him this afternoon, which -- I tell ya -- is a good thing for Walt. I don’t want him around Griego for longer than necessary. But he’s going to need someone to keep an eye on him. Sometimes there can be delayed effects to head impact injuries.”

Ray spoke immediately. “He can stay at our place.”

Gunny nodded approval. “Look, there are other things you should be aware of. He could have nightmares or he might become violent or depressed. Those’re common things in sexual assault victims.”

* * *

_ Saturday night   
_

_Matilda’s_ was packed to the rafters as soon as the doors opened. Word of Nate’s debut the night before had spread, but news of Walt’s attack hadn’t leaked out yet. The guys had decided to keep it that way until Walt could decide who he wanted to know about things. Plus, no one wanted a riot and that was a distinct possibility considering Walt’s popularity with the regulars.

Brad waved Nate down to the bar about an hour after open. As he quickly made his way through the very handsy crowd, Nate wondered what the hell he was doing being so eager. He’d been told by every other employee of _Matilda’s_ plus Christeson that Brad was a player. He had new guys most nights, and he didn’t date coworkers. Nate gently pushed someone’s hand off his ass and gave himself an order:

<< _Go ahead and fuck him, but then don’t follow him around expecting seconds. And try to remember that you got this job to pay for school._ >>

Patterson and Doc were there behind the bar with Poke, Kocher, and Brad. Nate was surprised that Brad had called him down to participate in this little meeting of the minds. He tried not to be curious if it meant something more than just _Matilda’s_ operations.

“Walt wants us to announce what happened,” Patterson said.

“No way, dawg. People will freak the fuck out,” Poke responded.

“He wants to make sure no one else gets hurt,” Patterson added.

They all shared a look. Leave it to Walt to think of everyone else while he was slung up, barely hours after being discharged from the hospital. The look between Nate and Brad lingered. Brad’s eyebrows ticked slightly upward; Nate's eyes flicked toward Kocher; and Brad acknowledged it with a minuscule nod.

Brad turned to Kocher. “What do you think, Eric?”

Kocher thought before he spoke. “Frankly, the best thing is to make the announcement but have the right person do it.”

“Q-Tip? He’s already up in the DJ booth,” Poke said.

Brad nodded, though Nate didn’t see the confidence there that he would have liked. “Everyone likes him. He could do it.”

Brad squeezed Nate’s upper arm. The feeling lingered as Nate pushed his way back across the dancefloor to bear the message. He found Q-Tip behind the turntables looking a little nervous, though, and it made Nate hesitate. It was glaringly obvious to Nate that Q-Tip was feeling the pressure of filling in for Ray, and here Nate was, about to tell him that he should tell a potentially volatile crowd about the gay bashing. Nate put on his metaphorical leader’s cap.

“Walt told Patterson he wants an announcement about the attack. Are you up to do it?” Nate relayed.

Q-Tip blanched. “Hey, man. I... me?”

Nate looked at Q-Tip. He suddenly looked like a boy wearing his older brother’s baggy clothes; young and overwhelmed. Nate looked down at Brad and saw his concerned face.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Q-Tip nodded.

“Alright. After this song?”

Q-Tip nodded again.

“Look, Q-Tip. Everyone loves what [you’re playing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jKPNnTAMSMc) up here. Look at the crowd. Your stuff is easy to dance to. It’s different enough from Ray’s stuff to keep things interesting. You’re definitely making my job easy,” Nate said sincerely.

Q-Tip looked shy but less overwhelmed. Nate thought the look suited him. It made him look insanely pretty, even more than his boyfriend. Then his swagger came back with a blazing smile and some word that sounded like “screwby.”

Nate didn’t ask for clarification. “Get ready to play your best stuff after I do this announcement. We’re going to need it,” he cautioned Q-Tip. Nate calmly stepped out on his platform with a microphone.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to _Matilda’s_. I’m Nate. I need your attention up here for an announcement.”

There were a lot of whistles, but the audience settled down and Nate continued.

“You may have noticed that Walt isn’t behind the bar tonight. Last night he was attacked after work. It was a hate attack--”

Immediately a roar of rage filled the club. Yells and on-the-knife’s-edge restlessness were everywhere. Nate could see fists clenching as rage drove guys to want to punish someone for this. The crowd was pissed, to say the least. _Matilda’s_ had expected this kind of reaction since they’d gone through the same anger and horror during the employee meeting earlier, but it was still hard to watch. Nate hurried to talk them through it.

“The good news is that he’s already out of the hospital and his attackers are in jail thanks to Ray and Kocher.”

The crowd cheered louder than Nate had anticipated. Several guys slapped Kocher on the back. There were still some yells for retaliation, though, so Nate kept on.

“Walt’s a strong kid. He’s a good person. That’s why he sent a message especially to tell you all that you’d better party extra hard tonight.”

The crowd cheered even louder.

“ _Matilda’s_ wants you all to stay safe so you keep coming back for more of this.” He bent at the knees and ran his hand up over his ass as he stood again, smiling.

“And this. And this.” Nate pointed at Rudy and Lilley and they did their own little shows to the crowd’s great satisfaction. The resulting wolf whistles were deafening. Nate was sure that Brad’s was the loudest and he shot him a wink.

Nate improvised a plan. “We’ll be organizing small groups to walk the neighborhood after the club closes.” Brad nodded approval. “If you want to help, talk to Brad behind the bar. If you’ve got other things to attend to,” Nate smirked at the crowd and they laughed, “be safe and smart. Check on your friends. Right now, Q-Tip is going to play us some more of his kick-ass music. I expect you all to make enough noise for the assholes that hurt Walt to hear you!”

****

Fortunately the crowd’s anger had been redirected into a veritable lovefest down on the dancefloor. Rudy and Lilley were more than pulling their weight. Still no blowjobs, but no fights or mobs either.

Nate watched Brad work behind the bar while he danced. Brad had put on a variation of his _Matilda's_ uniform after they rushed back from the hospital. Tonight it was dark wash jeans instead of camouflage pants, but his dogtags still swung pleasantly on his upper chest. He’d put on one of Walt's belts in a subtle tribute. Now the buckle – brassy colored and cowboy huge – just served to draw Nate's eyes down from Brad's hypnotizing dogtags to his crotch.

Nate’s thoughts went back to this morning when Brad had rolled to lay against Nate’s back. Brad’s breath had spread warmly across the back of Nate’s neck and woken him. He had melted deeper into Brad’s touch, and Brad had settled his hand on the center of Nate’s chest before Nate drifted to sleep again. It had been a long time for Nate since someone had held him like that.

Now, up on his stage, watching Brad work, Nate absently ran a hand across his nipples. He was imagining Brad’s touch from this morning. What if he hadn’t gone back to sleep? What if he’d let it go further? Nate was staring down at Brad with his lips wet and slack as he daydreamed.

Brad mouthed the word “dangerous” up at him. Then he flipped a cocktail shaker up in the air in a move that looked a lot like showing off.

A pleasant jolt of excitement ran through Nate’s body. Last night’s informal competition between Brad and Nate -- before they’d even been properly introduced -- for the crowd’s attention had been a big part of making _Matilda’s_ Friday night a good one. At least until Walt was... That aborted thought broke Nate out of his emerging fantasy, and he forced himself to turn away from Brad to cool his mind.

He watched Trombley instead. Trombley was doing ok at barbacking; not fantastic, but ok. Nate could guess how the kid was feeling. It was hard to understand the ins and outs of a place when you were dropped in less than half a day ago. Brad was having to do all of the bartending without Walt’s help and there was a line of people waiting. Trombley danced his way nimbly behind the bar with a rack of glasses.

<< _Huh. He can actually move--_ >>

But Nate didn’t have a chance to finish his thought about Trombley dancing because Brad lit fire to a huge row of shots down the bar. The crowd went ballistic. Brad looked up and smiled smugly. Nate’s competitive juices immediately were flowing hot and fast. It was as good a signal as any to start up the evening’s competition. Same as last night. Brad vs. Nate: who wins the crowd’s love? Brad just happened to score the first point.

Q-Tip's [next song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=stiC7sR518k) \-- a particularly cheeky thing to play at _Matilda’s_ ; good job, Q-Tip -- couldn’t have been more perfect in its timing and lyrics. It was dirty and perfect for luring the club’s attention back to the dancers. Lilley had a spot close to the crowd at the far end of the bar. He was smiling down at the waving dollar bills being offered up to him for just a little more skin. Rudy was on a low stage toward the VIP section and was oiled perfection. The three of them met eyes, smiled, and then moved in synch. They each turned to face the backs of their respective stages and shook their asses like a bunch of video girls. A lusty roar rose up from the crowd. Score one for them. Nate looked over his shoulder at Brad and gave him his own smug smile.

Brad’s flood of customers was going to have to wait a minute. He was busy watching Nate’s hip-swiveling, booty popped dance with a hungry look on his face. That was the look that was going to be Nate’s downfall, and Nate knew it. Still, he couldn’t help himself for wanting every bit of that attention. There was something about Brad Colbert.

If Brad thought Nate was dangerous, so was that look on Brad’s face. Here Nate was, barely clothed and dancing for exactly one person in the entire club. He used the railing of his platform like a stripper’s pole, moving sinuously and brushing the front of his (obscenely small, electric blue to match Brad’s eyes) briefs against the railing for some friction. Nate bit his lower lip in a show that was all for Brad. In fact, if Brad had been up here with him right now, Nate wouldn’t have cared in the slightest that the customers would have gotten a _real_ show. God, he wanted Brad more than could possibly be a smart idea. Nate felt his cock twitch and he was going to have no place to hide it.

* * *

_Sunday_   


“Hey. Are you awake?”

It was about half-past motherfuck in the morning, but yes, Brad was kind of awake. They’d gotten back to the apartment way later than usual. Closing took a long time without Walt, and Nate had organized everyone to do a thorough sweep of the five square blocks surrounding _Matilda’s_. After that, people had stayed behind to get an update on Walt’s condition. Brad invited Nate to stay over again, but they were both exhausted past functioning when they finally got here. They’d fallen into bed, still half clothed, and had fallen asleep almost immediately.

“What’s up?” Brad’s voice was gravely with sleep.

“I feel like I’m sneaking out after a one night stand that hasn’t happened yet, but I have to get home. I have a paper due tomorrow that I haven’t even cracked my books on yet.”

“You sure you can’t stay a little longer?” Brad snuggled (yes, he fucking snuggled) closer.

Nate sighed. “You’re dangerous.”

“Using my words. That mean you’ll stay?” Brad mumbled into Nate’s chest. He threw his leg over Nate’s, dragging him in. Nate was warm and felt good.

Nate sighed again. “You are not making this easy, Brad. I’ll see you at work tonight. I think Doc has us outfitted in something even more obscene than usual. I promise it’ll be worth your time.”

“You know, Nate, one of these times...”

“I’m still waiting for a first kiss,” Nate said into Brad’s ear, nipping at his lobe and then the side of his neck.

When Nate dressed and left, Brad flopped back down on his bed with a frustrated groan.

* * *

_Monday afternoon_   


_Matilda’s_ was closed on Mondays except during Fleet Week or when Halloween or New Year’s fell on those days. That wasn’t the case this week, so Monday afternoon found Brad jogging on the beach instead of getting stuff prepped behind the bar. But that didn’t mean _Matilda’s_ wasn’t weighing heavily on his mind.

He hadn’t heard from Godfather and Mattis since they left the hospital early Saturday morning. Presumably they were where they said they’d be: San Francisco. He wasn’t sure when they were going to be back, and he was still wondering IF they’d be back. He and Sixta were going to have to make some permanent personnel decisions pretty soon. _Bravo_ _Cabaret_ was going to need Manimal back or someone new. And, until Walt came back to work, he was going to need another set of hands behind the bar. Poke was going to need help too as they headed into tourist season. The VIP room was always busier during the winter. He made a mental note to call Sixta.

Considering everything that had happened here and in New York, Brad was giving some serious thought to having a gay pride event at _Matilda's_. Behind the scenes it would be for Walt, but _Matilda’s_ could donate the money it raised to the [Human Rights Campaign](http://www.hrc.org/) or something local. It would be good for business and a good thing to do; pragmatic and principled. Brad ran across the causeway, fighting a headwind but hardly noticing as he started thinking about how they could pull something like that off. They could bring in a guest host; Ray knew a lot of people. He already needed to get the dancers together with the _Bravo_ queens to talk about the Halloween show they’d been planning. Could they pull a bigger show together in time for Halloween? That was less than two weeks away. He made a second mental note to talk to Doc.

Brad wondered when Ray would be up to coming back. Q-Tip had rocked it on Saturday and Sunday. (Fuck... trying to keep his shit together on Sunday while Nate was dancing to Q-Tip’s music had not been easy, especially with that piece of dental floss that Doc had dressed him in. There had also been chaps and Doc laughing at Brad’s gaping mouth. It was definitely not made easier when he knew that Nate wasn’t coming home with him because of classes. Brad blinked his eyes hard and focused on _Matilda’s_ again.) Ray was a big draw. Brad needed his DJ. He was going to have to broach the subject later today and brace himself for the push-back.

He ran along Bayshore Drive and started making a list of other shit that had to get done. He needed to call Trombley and get the kid’s head in the right place. He needed to follow up with Patterson to see if there was anything else they should be doing to make sure Walt’s attackers stayed in jail until their dicks rotted off.

And then he found himself panting for breath on the north end of the University’s campus, barely knowing how he got there.

****

Brad had absolutely no idea where Nate’s class was or where precisely Nate’s apartment was. He did have a pretty good idea of why he’d run all the way over here though. He and Nate had unfinished business. Seeing Nate organize the crowd into a neighborhood watch on Saturday had just fanned the flame. A green-eyed twink in blue spandex underwear rallying the troops; how was Brad supposed to deal with that? He took advantage of the mental picture when he’d been in the shower last night, but apparently Brad’s body hadn’t had enough and found its way over to Coral Gables.

If Brad had been inclined to believe in fate, he might have said that was exactly what was happening here. Because there was Nate, messenger bag slung across his shoulders, looking like a jailbait librarian from heaven, walking across the quad toward him. Brad laughed at himself. Never had he literally run across all of Miami to chase a man. This was fucking absurd.

“You ran here?” Nate sounded incredulous and amused, but he did look happy to see Brad.

“Are you questioning my level of fitness or my level of stalkerish behavior?”

“I have seen you without a shirt. I also know how nice my ass looks in these chinos. So I’m not questioning either of those things.”

“What then?” Brad asked.

“I didn’t think the Iceman ever chased his prey, that’s all.”

“I usually don’t have to,” Brad replied. He smiled, but mostly he was wondering how Nate Fick seemed to get in his head so easily. That caught Brad off his game. He was realizing that he wanted Nate in a way that went way past just sex, and Brad was way, way out of his depth.

“Can’t blame a guy for having standards,” Nate teased.

Brad smiled despite his uncharacteristic nerves. “Well, then, If I can’t pounce here, the least you could do is get me a cup of coffee.”

One cup turned into three. They talked about everything; families, first jobs, favorite movies, Nate’s classes. (Brad wondered if this was a date. How long had it been since he’d been on a date?) Eventually Brad’s idea for the fundraiser Halloween party came up. Together Brad and Nate brainstormed one idea after another in a caffeine-fueled rattle.

“Shit. I have class again,” Nate said, looking at his watch. “I can’t skip this one. Brad, I really want to skip it.”

Brad smiled. Maybe he hadn’t lost all of his charm if Nate wanted to stay with him longer. “Go on, college boy. Come over to my place tonight and we’ll do some more planning.”

“You know as well as I do that we would not do any planning of anything if I came over. And I have another paper due on Wednesday. I need to finish it tonight because I don’t think I’ll have time tomorrow with work.”

“When is the semester over? Because this is not my idea of optimal,” Brad grumbled.

* * *

_Tuesday_   


The photobooth had been Lilley’s idea maybe a year and a half ago. A couple of times a month, they’d open it for business and let people snap pictures. Of course all of the VIPs, regardless of what day of the month they visited _Matilda’s_ , got their pictures taken. One set went with the clubgoers and one set stayed with _Matilda’s_. The walls on the way to the restrooms were plastered with these pictures, at least half of which involved nudity. Lilley loved the day after the photobooth was open because there were always a few porn shots in every batch of pictures.

“Hey, dude. Brad,” Lilley called quietly after the employee meeting. “Yo, I was thinking that we could pull out the photobooth.”

“Tuesdays are slow, Lilley.”

“Yeah, but maybe that’ll help pump people up. And we could take pictures for Walt.”

The last part was what hooked Brad.

****

Nate missed the employee meeting because of class. Brad used that opportunity to snap a set of pictures of himself in the photobooth. These were for Nate. No, these weren’t just _for_ Nate. They were to _torture_ Nate. Obviously going to class was more important than taking the afternoon off to finally consummate their flirting, but Brad didn’t have to like it. He’d spent the afternoon replaying their coffee date (yep, it had been a date) over and over in his mind. Doc called him out on “acting fucking weird with this smiling shit.”

Brad pulled the curtain on the booth and pressed the button. The first frame was a picture of his eyes. Brad was laughing and the corners of his eyes crinkled in an appealing way. (When did he start smiling this much? Doc was right.) The second frame was a picture of the curve where his neck met his shoulder. Both times Nate had stayed over, Brad had woken in the middle of the night to find Nate’s face buried there. The final frame was Brad’s tattoo. He’d pressed his jeans low and a hint of his ass was in the picture too.

Brad took the picture directly up to Nate’s platform and securely taped it to one of the uprights.

When he came back down, Patterson was leaning up against the bar watching him, looking vaguely suspicious. Brad ignored him.

****

 _Matilda’s_ doors had already opened when Nate came rushing into the dressing room. Doc was still there, sketching in his notebook. He held out a wad of cloth to Nate, barely looking up.

“Halloween plans?” Nate asked while he was getting dressed, gesturing to Doc’s sketchpad.

“Yep,” Doc replied.

“Top secret?” Nate stepped into tonight’s costume. It had suspenders and he started pulling them up over his shoulders.

“Not particularly, and leave the suspenders down. You’re not wearing lederhosen.”

“Framing my ass. Check,” Nate chuckled.

“Your bartender will appreciate it,” Doc said, finally looking up.

“Everyone around here is so helpful,” Nate said. He snapped the leg elastic of the white briefs saucily. Doc’s moustache twitched, the only hint that he was amused. Nate enjoyed Doc’s sense of humor enough to mostly ignore the meddling, especially since one look in the mirror showed him that his ass did indeed look nice.

****

Brad had just slid a drink across the bar to a customer when Nate crowded into his space. Brad wrapped an arm loosely around Nate’s waist and Nate did the same to Brad. People were staring.

“Hey,” Nate said, speaking close to Brad’s ear to be heard over Q-Tip’s music. His hand had come up to the back of Brad’s neck, and goosebumps raised on Brad’s skin.

“Hey.”

“Sorry I’m so late.”

“Couldn’t stay away from me?”

Nate tsk-ed him. His fingers rubbed over Brad’s lower back, and Brad smiled broadly knowing what was waiting for Nate up on his dance platform.

“Doc thought you’d like tonight’s costume. Should I go see if everyone else likes it too?” Nate pulled Brad’s earlobe through his teeth; it was starting to give Brad an inappropriately Pavlovian response.

Brad knew he was breathing harder when Nate peeled away. “You’re a tease, Nate.”

“That’s what _Matilda’s_ hired me for.” And then the motherfucker winked. Fuck that.

When Brad shook it off and turned back to the bar, Poke was grinning at him knowingly.

“Dawg, you best be careful. I’m pretty sure that one knows your game.”

****

It took Nate a bit to get up to his usual spot. He earned a few extra tips by dancing with some of the customers on his way up. Plus, he knew Brad was watching him with the other guys. One of these nights sheer exhaustion and university weren’t going to stand in their way. Until then Nate had to admit he was enjoying the flirtation. Maybe he was a tease.

Then he saw that Brad had the upper hand. Right in front of him, pasted at eye height on his pseudo-stripper pole, were three pictures of Brad that made Nate forget where he was. There were Brad’s ice blue eyes laughing at him; his neck, where Brad’s smell triggered all of the primal parts of Nate’s brain; and that tattoo. This was hitting below the belt.

He looked over to Brad at the bar and mouthed the words “fuck you.” Brad laughed. Nate couldn’t help but smile too, but this wasn’t the end of it. If Brad wanted a game, Nate was going to play to win.

****

An hour later, Brad watched Nate make his way back through the crowd. He thought he might be coming over to give Brad a piece of his mind, considering the bit of wood Nate had been sporting. Brad hadn’t been hiding his amusement. However, Nate bypassed the bar and went out of Brad’s line of sight.

A few minutes later, Nate slid a strip of photos across the bar to Brad.

“Have a taste of your own medicine,” Nate said.

Now it was Brad’s turn to forget where he was. Nate’s green eyes were winking up at him. His tanline at his left hip was mocking Brad. Possibly worst of all was the puckered red lips in the last photo. Worst of all because Brad needed to work and now his concentration was going to be for shit as he imagined those lips on his body. He stood the photos up between a couple of bottles over the cash register.

Brad looked up at Nate, who was just making it back to his platform, and shook his head. He was trying to look stern even though he had wanted Nate to do exactly this. Brad had wanted Nate to torture him right back. The build up on this thing was too much fun to stop. Brad crooked his finger and silently called for Nate to come back down. Nate laughed and shook his head.

The next hour of dancing was more distracting than usual.

****

Tuesdays were officially going to be Nate’s favorite day from here on out. The VIP lounge was closed on Tuesdays, and Poke was helping Brad behind the bar tonight. That left Brad free to play this new game of one-upmanship with Nate without leaving _Matilda’s_ customers waiting.

Nate was due for a break. He tried to sneak by Brad back to the photobooth again -- this game was only starting -- but Brad saw him and followed. They were both laughing when Nate tried to straight-arm Brad off of him to get inside the photobooth. Brad pulled him away from the curtain by the back elastic of his briefs.

“Are you going to spoil the surprise? This set of pictures was bound to be good,” Nate said, still laughing.

Then, Brad was backing him behind the curtain. Its metal rings slid along the bar, snapping shut and leaving them in desperately tight quarters.

“If your crack-of-dawn classes are going to keep you from staying over at my place, I am going to have to take what I can get,” Brad said. He planted his hands on the wall above Nate’s shoulders.

“Hm,” Nate responded. He forced himself not to shiver with anticipation. There was absolutely no doubt that something was about to happen and, God, did he want it. Nate ran his eyes up the length of Brad’s long arms, following the curve of Brad’s muscles, landing on the bar towel Brad had slung over one bare shoulder. “What if I’m the one doing the taking?”

Nate slowly pulled the ends of the towel around the back of Brad’s neck. His fingers brushed the skin of Brad’s shoulders, and the hitch in Brad’s breath only encouraged Nate onward. He drew Brad’s lips closer until only a hair’s breadth separated them. The tension was exhilarating.

“As long as you stop being such a tease, I would let you take whatever you wanted,” Brad replied.

“Oh, really now. I think I’ll start by taking that first kiss,” Nate whispered. “I deserve that and a hell of a lot more after having to dance with your smirking eyes and the curve of your neck in my face all night.” He swept his lips across Brad’s cheek and down the side of his neck. He moved slowly, savoring the warmth of Brad’s skin and tasting the salt of sweat. Nate felt the low hum of approval from deep in Brad’s chest.

“Did I distract you?”

Nate looked directly into Brad’s eyes and moved closer. “Yes,” Nate whispered in response. His lips brushed Brad’s as he spoke.

“Dangerous,” Brad breathed. It was needy and fond at the same time, but there was no time for Nate to process the latter.

Suddenly the slow burn was fanned into a blaze. Brad put his hands on Nate’s cheeks and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Nate matched Brad’s intensity, leveraging on the bar towel. They’d been dancing around this for four days, an agonizingly long four days during which Nate had been struggling to focus on writing his research papers with a raging hard-on. Usual people took study breaks to make nachos. This week Nate had been taking study breaks to jerk off. A lot, and always with Brad on his mind. That’s why he couldn’t help himself now from rubbing the front of his briefs against Brad.

Brad pulled back for air. “Fuck, Nate. You look like a goddamn choir boy. A boy scout. But you know exactly what you want, don’t you?”

Nate dropped the towel and started in on Brad’s pants. He did know exactly what he wanted right now and it was to get his hands on as much of Brad as possible.

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk too much?” Nate smiled.

Brad’s laugh was cut off when Nate’s hand found its way into his pants, sliding around his hip and curling onto the round of his ass. Nate slid his other hand along Brad’s other hip. He very slowly began pressing Brad’s jeans lower.

“No. No one ever tells me that. The opposite usually.” Brad gasped when Nate pulled them hard together and rocked their cocks together.

“Right now, we’re both talking too much,” Nate said, smirking. His next kiss was timed with his fist closing around Brad’s cock, and he drank in the sharp exhale from Brad’s mouth. Nate kissed Brad with open eyes, watching the waves of pleasure on Brad’s face as his hand dragged slowly up Brad’s length. Nate frotted up against Brad in rhythm with the movement of his hand on Brad’s dick. He pressed Brad’s cock against his own with only his costume in the way. He loved that Brad maintained eye contact through every stroke. Nate was lost in the intensity of Brad’s gaze; it made him forget where they really were.

Brad slid his hands under the elastic at the hips of Nate’s briefs and started sliding them down. Nate nodded, mouth open and breathing harder. He couldn’t help thrusting towards Brad’s cock again. Brad’s hands were smooth and surprisingly gentle over his hips and ass. Nate absently bit his lower lip, barely able to wait for the payoff. Brad dove in for another kiss, dragging his teeth across Nate’s lips too.

“I want you so fucking much,” Brad said. He slid Nate’s briefs down his thighs and traced his fingers along the cleft of Nate’s ass.

Nate couldn’t help but push himself harder onto Brad. This all felt so fucking good. The way Brad kissed was exactly the way Nate loved it; a mixture of light teasing touches that made his mouth water for more and tongue sucking that he could feel all the way down in his balls. Nate felt desperate. He needed Brad to touch him, to get him off.

Brad’s other hand forced its way between them and grabbed Nate’s cock. Nate gasped a moan.

<< _Yes, like that,_ >> Nate told Brad with his eyes. They brought their palms to their mouths and spit.

Nate hissed, “Do it.”

The first slick touch of their palms on their dicks made them both moan louder. Their fists bumped between their bodies as they jacked each other off. Their kisses deepened around their gasps until they were unable to focus enough. Then they just panted against each other.

After the week’s flirting and their current not-so-private surroundings, neither of them lasted long. Their hot come mingled on their stomachs as they panted on each other’s shoulders. Nate felt like he was flying. His whole body was warm and the weight of Brad pressing against him was supremely satisfying. They slumped against the wall of the photobooth, hands still around each others softening cocks.

“Dangerous,” Brad panted in his ear.

Nate tipped his head back and laughed. A flash went off and he was shocked to remember they were still in the photobooth. Nate laughed harder. They were having sex in a photobooth while at work. Good.

They hissed when they finally let go of each other. Brad used the bar towel to wipe them both off. Nate kissed him gently.

“Break’s over, I’m afraid. Don’t forget to grab _both_ copies of the pictures,” Nate said, smiling and sliding his briefs back up. The waist elastic was damp and probably stained. Nate did not give a single fuck. In fact, he was fully willing to have Brad’s mark on him like that. He tugged Brad’s dogtags over his head and left the booth.

****

It took Brad a minute -- or a couple of minutes -- just standing there in the photobooth. His pants were still open and his dick was still out; Nate had left him brainless. Then Nate’s words finally sank in and he realized that the photobooth had likely spat out several strips of photos. One of them had been leaning on the button. Brad groaned, still wanting more of Nate, but they were at work for fuck’s sake.

Brad got his ass in gear in a hurry, tucking and zipping and buckling himself back into a relatively decent shape. He needed to get his hands on the pictures before anyone else did. Fortunately, no one was around the booth and the pictures were there. He pocketed the photo strips after taking a very good look at them. He wiped a hand down his face in disbelief and headed back to the bar, chucking the towel in the trash on the way.

“What the fuck, dawg? You’re lucky it’s Tuesday and I’m here to cover for you,” Poke scowled.

“Lucky,” Brad mumbled. Nate was up there dancing with Brad’s dogtags bouncing on his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline of this chapter overlaps with that in the previous chapter. WARNING: Safe word use.

_ Saturday afternoon _

“Ray?” Walt’s voice came out rasping and quiet. Still, it woke Ray up with a jolt from his awkward position in the hospital chair.

“Walt! Yeah! I’m here,” Ray said, looking incredibly relieved. “Do you want water? I can get you some water.”

Ray was already running to the bathroom and didn’t hear Walt’s cracked voice say, “Don’t leave.”

In the bathroom there was a clatter and a muttered “fuck!” from Ray. The water ran in the sink and Ray came back with a cup. His big, brown eyes were eager and concerned at the same time. Walt knew he should respond to that somehow, but mostly he just felt like a numb observer.

Walt tried to sit up, but the pain made him gasp and fall back.

<< _Shit. Not numb._ >>

He hurt _everywhere_ ; his shoulder was especially bad. At least for now, he wasn’t hurting in his soul, but he knew it would come eventually. This must be what it means to be in shock.

“Shhh. You gotta let me help,” Ray said quietly. He raised the bed and helped Walt drink a few sips of water. This side of Ray was weirdly sweet. If Walt was going to have to take help from someone, he supposed Ray was the one he wanted here.

“Ray,” Walt said again. His voice was stronger. “You... In the alley, I saw you there.”

“I just did what anyone would have if they’d seen...” Ray seemed unable to finish.

Walt wanted -- no, he _needed_ \-- to know exactly what Ray had done, but all he said for now was, “Thanks.” He was too tired right now to know the details, and he was scared of what he’d hear.

“I just did what anyone woulda done. Come on, dude. It’s no big deal.”

“Ray.” Walt’s tone said it was a big fucking deal.

They stared at each other. Tears welled in Walt’s eyes, opposite to his feeling of emptiness. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling sorry for himself or glad to be alive or what. These tears were involuntary, like barfing when you’ve got the flu and exactly as nice as that. Ray looked away, uncomfortable.

****

“Hello?”

Gunny cleared his throat, and it seemed to him that it took an embarrassingly long time. “Eric Kocher, please,” Gunny finally said into his cell phone.

“Speaking,” was the response on the other end of the line.

“This is Mike Wynn. Gunny. From the hospital.”

“Yeah, hey! What can I do for you?” Kocher said in a way that sounded pretty enthusiastic. That was a good sign.

“Well, first thing, Walt is being discharged as we speak. Can you swing by and pick him up? And Ray?”

Gunny wanted to see Kocher again. He couldn’t get those dimples out of his head. And Kocher’s smile. And his broad shoulders...

“Awesome! He’s doing good then?”

“Yep. He’s moving slow, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“I’d come and get him myself, but _Matilda’s_ is going to open here in less than an hour. We’re down a man on security, so I can’t get away. Let me make a call. I’ll send someone over,” Kocher said.

<< _That sucks._ >> “Alright then,” Gunny said.

There was a long pause. Gunny didn’t really want to hang up yet, but every version of asking Kocher out on a date sounded fucking ridiculous in his head.

“You said that was the first thing,” Kocher prompted.

Gunny awkwardly cleared his throat again. “Yeah,” he said. He felt like a complete idiot. It’s not like he’d never talked to a man on the phone before. What the fuck was this shit? Was he really this out of practice? Fick would be laughing if he was here.

“So that must mean there is another thing,” Kocher prompted him some more. Gunny hoped he wasn’t imagining the smile he heard in Kocher’s voice.

“Well, fuck. Ok. I guess we just met and all, but I was thinking you might want to go for a ride. I mean, on our bikes.” Gunny shook his head at himself. Jesus.

“I thought you might ride when I saw your jacket at the hospital. How do you know I have a motorcycle?” Kocher said.

“I asked Doc,” Gunny said, cringing to himself that it sounded like he was at best overeager, at worst like some kind of stalker.

“Doing a little recon on me, huh?” Kocher’s voice definitely sounded like a smile this time. “I do ride, actually. And that sounds like a great time. I’ve got mornings off.”

****

Kocher called Patterson just after Patterson left the police station for the third time in less than 24 hours. Things were actually being handled properly and Patterson was feeling rather optimistic. Exhausted, but optimistic.

“Gunny just called. Do you think you could run over to the hospital and pick up Ray and Walt? Walt’s been released.”

“Gunny called _you_ , did he?”

“Alright. Simmer down. Can you do it? Everyone else needs to get ready for open,” Kocher said.

“I’ll go get them, yes, but I will be following up with you on the whole Gunny thing.” The note of amusement in Patterson’s voice was impossible to miss.

“There is not a ‘Gunny thing,’” Kocher said and hung up.

Patterson smiled as he drove over to the hospital. Kocher deserved a good man, and from what Patterson had seen, Gunny fit that description well. And the mental picture of those two together was certainly an appealing thought, all broad chested and stubbled.

Walt was waiting curbside in a mandatory wheelchair with Ray at his side. They had on shirts that must have come from Ray’s locker at work: _My Other Ride is Your Brother_ and _Disco Queen_. It was melancholic to see the two of them, usually so full of life, so beaten down, body and soul. The contrast to their playful shirts was painful.

At least Patterson could be glad when Walt was able to get himself into the car without much help, but the kid was going to be black-and-blue for weeks. Patterson decided he was going to call the detectives again after he dropped Walt off, because Patterson keenly wanted Walt’s attackers to go away for a long, long time.

The first thing Walt did once he got into the car, before they’d even pulled away from the curb, was to make an emphatic request of Patterson.

“Are you going back to the club after you drop us off?”

“If you don’t need anything else, yes. Doc is there,” Patterson replied.

“I want you to have them make an announcement to the customers... about me. People should be going in pairs or something,” Walt said.

“Walt, are you absolutely sure you want an announcement like that? Frankly, it means everyone will know,” Patterson said, turning around to look at Walt directly.

“It would send me over the edge -- I mean it, over the goddamn cliff -- if someone else got attacked. You gotta tell them. No one else can get hurt. Not if we could do something about it.” Walt’s voice cracked but no tears came this time.

Ray turned to look out the window, looking miserable. Patterson and Doc were going to have to sit Ray down and convince him that this wasn’t his fault. He was sure acting like he thought it was, and that was the road into misery for Ray and for Walt.

Patterson nodded at Walt. “I’ll call a staff meeting when I get there. We’ll do an announcement.” He started the car and they started for Ray’s apartment in heavy silence.

“I know you probably don’t want to think about this, but the police are going to want you to look at a line-up and give another statement,” Patterson finally said to Walt.

“They already have the guys in custody. What else can they possibly want?” Ray said angrily.

“It’s ok. I’ll do it,” Walt said, but he looked pale.

“Good boy. I’ll be there with you,” Patterson said, looking in the rearview mirror.

“I want Ray there, too,” Walt said quickly.

****

This was somewhere between babysitting and a date. The former had to suck for Walt, and Ray had resigned himself to the fact that the latter wasn’t in the cards. Ray figured the best thing was to make an attempt at a fun distraction.

“You want to watch a movie?” Ray asked Walt after Patterson dropped them off.

“Yeah, ok. You pick,” Walt said. He curled up on Ray’s couch under a quilt looking fragile.

Ray couldn’t help but notice Walt’s grimace, and Walt apparently couldn’t help but notice Ray’s look of concern.

“Stop looking at me like that, Ray. I don’t want your pity,” Walt snapped.

“Come on, dude. It’s not like that. I just--”

Ray didn’t know what to say really. He put on _X-Men: First Class_ because he knew Walt read those comics and sat in the recliner trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound too asshole-ish. He was so fucking proud of Walt, but, yeah, he hated to see Walt hurt. It made his stomach knot up. He wanted to do hippy dippy lesbian shit like making herbal tea and brushing Walt’s hair if it’d make Walt feel better. No, what he really wanted to do was climb on the couch and wrap Walt up in himself. Ray would block all of the shit from the outside world from getting to his Walt. But he didn’t because he was too scared it’d hurt Walt’s shoulder. Plus, Ray knew he wouldn’t climb onto that couch even if Walt wasn’t injured. Being rejected by Walt would be too painful. Even if it was pathetic, it was definitely easier to just keep doing what they’d been doing as friends.

Walt fell asleep quickly. Ray turned off the TV and tucked Walt in on the couch (even though he would have offered Walt his bed if he’d been awake; Ray would have taken the couch). Ray kept his bedroom door open and his bedside lamp on, hoping it would shine enough of a glow out to be like a nightlight.

It took Ray a long time to fall asleep.

****

Walt’s frayed nerves jolted him awake in the middle of the night and he was immediately freaked out. A couple sets of feet were coming down the hallway toward the apartment. Two guys, maybe more, coming to corner him in this dark apartment. His chest tightened with a flashback to the alley. He strained to stay silent when pain shot through his body as he sat up. He cringed it back. There was an empty beer bottle on the coffee table and he picked it up by the neck. A few dribbles of liquid ran down his wrist as he backed into Ray’s room, keeping his eyes on the front door. The backs of his legs bumped into Ray’s bed.

“What’s going on? Are you ok?” Ray whispered, sounding a little frantic too.

“Someone's coming,” Walt hissed. The bedside lamp’s light lit up Ray’s concerned eyes.

Then the apartment door opened. The floor boards creaked. Walt couldn’t breathe. He climbed awkwardly onto the bed, desperate for safety closer to Ray.

“It’s just Brad. It’s ok,” Ray said gently. “Do you want me to double check?”

“No! Stay here,” Walt said. He was aware that his voice sounded like a whimper, but he couldn’t bear the idea of Ray leaving him here alone or, worse, going out there and getting attacked.

Ray pulled the covers up over them and made Walt lay down. Walt, still scared, dropped the bottle to the rug and clung to Ray's hand when they heard hushed voices. Brad had brought someone home, not surprisingly. The muffled voices moved closer and then retreated behind Brad’s bedroom door.

Walt’s terror melted right here in Ray’s bed when he realized who was with Brad. Immediately Walt rocketed from deathly scared to amused. His emotions were all over the place, and he swung all the way over to laughing hysterically in an instant.

“Wait. Brad brought Nate home?” Walt gasped between laughs. “Dude, we were so right about them! He threw his own rule under the bus.”

“Brad is truly and completely fucked, homes. We called it,” Ray said, smiling. He looked happy that Walt was laughing, and that calmed Walt some.

“Ray?” Walt slid his fingers between Ray’s, unable to shake the last of his nerves.

“Yeah?”

“Can I stay in here tonight?”

* * *

_Sunday_

Ray got up early. He had to piss like a horse, but held it until his eyeballs were swimming because Walt was still holding his hand. Walt’s face was only inches from Ray’s. He was still bruised but mostly he was so fucking beautiful that Ray’s heart was pounding in his ears. He wanted to wake up to this every morning. Fuck, he wanted a universe where he woke Walt up with a stroke of his hand and for them to take care of their morning wood together.

With that thought, Ray sighed and got up. No point in torturing himself.

After a long piss and a longer stare into the bathroom mirror questioning his life choices, Ray got serious about his coffee. Hell, he was always serious about his coffee routine. He made special trips way the fuck down to this place in Key West every other week to get his beans. Brad had gotten him a top-end digital thermometer so Ray would always have the his water at the perfect brewing temperature. (Brad had called it “enabling Ray’s addiction against his better judgement.”)

Ray had just finished finished pulling a perfect espresso shot when Nate emerged from Brad’s room. There was no way that Nate was another GTFO coffee drinker, and that made Ray go into major territorial mode. Dealing with a fragile Walt and a screwed over Brad did not sound like a good time.

“Hey,” Nate said, heading more or less directly for the door.

“That was either the stealthiest fuck ever or you are giving my roommate blue balls from hell,” Ray said, not interested in Nate leaving without an interrogation.

Nate gave Ray a wilting look that was, once again, disturbingly like Brad.

“You’re doing a really good thing keeping Walt here,” Nate said, deliberately changing the subject.

“Yeah, well, what else would I do?”

“You should ask for help if you need it. The rest of the guys love Walt like a brother and they’d drop anything--”

“You don’t need to lecture me on my own friends,” Ray said, a little pissed.

“You’re right, I’m not telling you something you don’t already know. I am saying other people want to help. Don’t hog him.”

Ray stared at the latte he’d just finished making. Nate was right, just like Brad always was. Ray felt the annoyed expression on his face.

“Homes, you and Brad need to fuck and fall in love like the grand plan dictates, because then your smart shit won’t stink so much.”

Ray poured the coffee in a travel mug and handed it to Nate.

“You’ll be back. Bring the cup back clean,” Ray said.

****

Walt woke up to the pleasant sounds of music and someone working in the kitchen. It was warm here and his first sleep-clouded thought was that he’d like to stay exactly like this for as long as possible. He had a distant memory of his mom singing while she made breakfast.

The pain in his shoulder didn’t register right away. When it finally did, the rest of it came rushing back too. Walt’s chest tightened in panic again.

“Ray!”

A clatter rose from the kitchen. Then, Ray was at the bedroom door. Walt wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more welcome face. Ray rushed over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you ok?”

“No! I’m not fucking OK, Ray! I need to wash off--” And then his voice cracked and all he could do was drag in a ragged breath.

Ray put his hands solidly on Walt’s arms and gave him a minute. “Come on. You take a shower then come out and I’ll help you wash your hair in the sink. I’m making some food too.”

“What? Spaghetti-O’s or something?” Walt tried to smile, because he had basically seen Ray burn water before, but his split lip hurt too much.

“Hey! Spaghetti-O’s are comfort food! If you want those, I think Brad has some on his side of the kitchen.”

Walt snorted. Ray pretty much always knew what the right thing to say was.

Ray helped Walt slowly to the bathroom. When the bathroom door clicked closed, Walt looked at himself in the mirror on the back of the door. He wasn’t a vain person, but the sight of his bruised, scratched face was shocking. His chest tightened again and tears pricked his eyes. He couldn’t help feeling like no one would ever want him again now that this had happened. A small voice deep down started to tell him that he’d been stupid for going with that guy.

<< _NO. This is not your fault, Hasser,_ >> Walt said to himself in the mirror.

Even worse than feeling ugly, was the thought that he’d maybe never want anyone else either. What if he never wanted someone to touch him again? It would be like getting raped for the rest of his life; and it was exactly what the men who attacked him would have wanted: one less practicing gay man.

All of that weighed heavily on him as he struggled to undress. Not being in control of his body made the angry tears well up in his eyes again. He hated being this helpless. It went against how his parents had raised him to be self-sufficient. It went against how strong he’d managed to be after his folks had died.

If Patterson didn’t call him today, he was going to call Patterson. Walt was going to go down to the police station and point his finger at the men who had attacked him so they’d go away for a long, long time.

Finally he managed to step under the hot water. There, he finally let himself cry.

****

The sound of Walt sobbing was almost unbearable. Ray pulled a chair next to the bathroom door.

He had to wipe his cheek more than once.

****

Ray put a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Walt; not Spaghetti-O’s. Earlier Walt had found Ray guarding the bathroom door while he showered. And Ray had laid out a spare toothbrush.

“You don’t need to do all of this, Ray.”

“Actually, I do. Doctor’s orders that you can’t be left alone because of your head.”

“Did he say that you needed to bodyguard me?”

“That’s just part of the hospitality at Chez Person.”

“If you start trying to help me take a piss...”

“Now, Walt. That’s just gay,” Ray said, smiling.

Despite the ache in his shoulder -- everywhere, really -- Ray’s smile made Walt feel warm. Considering how Walt’s Friday night went, that was confusing and uncomfortable. Wasn’t it too soon? He tried to change the subject to something that seemed far away from flirting.

“What’s this song? It’s cool. And there was one playing earlier too.”

“You like it?” Ray was boyishly excited. “Yeah? I made this playlist for you--” Ray stopped short and blushed. Walt realized that there may be no getting away from flirting when it came to Ray and him. But it still might be too soon.

* * *

_Monday_

Patterson and Doc came and got Ray and Walt just after lunch.

“Let’s do this thing,” Walt said quietly. He was terrified and mad, but this had to get done.

Ten minutes later they were at the police station meeting Detective Eckloff. Then the line-ups started, three of them. Walt felt for Ray’s hand. He calmed when Ray slid his fingers between his. Ray stood next to Walt’s side during the whole thing and Walt made it through. He was even pretty sure that the ringleader guy had been in the third line-up.

Patterson drove them back to the apartment with an assurance that he’d keep on Eckloff as much as was reasonable.

Walt went directly to the bathroom and vomited. Afterward, Ray handed him a ginger ale and they sat on the couch together in silence to watch another movie.

****

Doc had him in a power move. He dragged Patterson’s arm up behind his back and pushed him face down on the living room rug.

“Wait! Fuck! Assassin!” Patterson yelled. Fuck, he was starting to panic. “Stop! Assassin!”

Doc dropped his hold immediately and rolled Patterson over, searching his face. “Are you ok? Your safeword...”

Patterson was gasping for breath. They’d only been wrestling. It wasn’t even that intense really, but something about that series of holds that Doc had used had sent Patterson back to that heartbreaking night in law school.

“Robert,” Patterson said; his law school roommate, who he’d stupidly fallen in love with.

“Oh, shit. He did that when--?”

Patterson nodded, and tried to get his breathing under control. The memory of that fight with Robert had come back so suddenly. That was the only time Patterson ever had his world shattered so completely and he’d forgotten how much it had hurt.

Robert was absolutely brilliant, handsome in that Connecticut prep way, and witty, but he was somewhere barely to the left of Strom Thurmond on the political spectrum. Nevertheless, Patterson had fallen hard for him and made the mistake of telling him exactly that one night over popcorn and a football game on the TV. That was the beginning of a very rapid descent to the end. His declaration precipitated an intensely physical altercation. Almost immediately, Robert threw the popcorn bowl off the couch and dove for Patterson. The first rough grab and shove had gone straight to Patterson’s dick. He was still hoping that Robert was reciprocating his feelings and this was the first time he realized he might like something a little rough. But that wasn’t what was happening, Patterson knew it. Everything else was a blur of profanity and pain and heartache; they both left bloodied. It was the end of their friendship, and Patterson had been devastated for a very long time. He had been broken. Doc knew the story, but Patterson had never used his safeword before.

“Come here,” Doc said softly. He wrapped Patterson up in his arms and legs and held him until his breath slowed to normal.

“Thanks,” Patterson said into the front of Doc’s solid shoulder. He pressed his cheek against the coarse hair on Doc’s chest. “My arm up behind my back like that and the carpet...”

“I won’t go there again. I promise,” Doc said with his lips moving against Patterson’s hair. Patterson knew he could trust Doc to the end of the earth on that.

“My skin is thin because of Walt,” Patterson said in way of an explanation.

“All of us,” Doc replied. “But I’ve got you, Bryan.”

Patterson tightened his arms around Doc’s waist and squeezed hard. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you too,” Doc said. “Come on. Let’s go where there is a lower potential for rugburn.”

They relocated to the bed, and Doc pulled the comforter up until it was covering all but the tops of their heads. They laid face to face in the dim light.

“You think Walt is blaming himself?” Patterson asked, still raw.

Doc shrugged. “Walt’s pretty level-headed, but maybe. Do you blame yourself for that fight with Robert?”

“Sometimes,” Patterson sighed. “Yeah, sometimes I do.”

Doc nodded. He didn’t have to say out loud that Patterson shouldn’t think that. Patterson knew that telling someone that you loved them was no grounds for having the shit beaten out of you. But sometimes he did despite himself, and maybe Walt was too.

****

Doc woke up to the feeling of Patterson stroking his hair off his forehead.

“Hey. You ok?” Doc was awake all of a sudden, worrying that Patterson was still fucked up about earlier.

“I’m fine,” Patterson said, nuzzling into Doc’s cheek.

Doc laughed into the darkness. “Apparently.” He could feel Patterson’s arousal pressing on his hip.

“What can I say? I love you this much,” Patterson said. He ran his stubbled chin down the line of Doc’s neck to his shoulder. “I woke up thinking about you, and I thought I’d risk waking you up.”

“No risk, no reward?”

“Exactly.”

“Turn over,” Doc said.

Patterson laid face down on the bed and hummed in anticipation as Doc straddled his hips. Doc flipped on the lamp. There was always a bottle of oil bedside, and Doc warmed some in his hands.

“You’re lucky you have me, you know,” Doc said, starting to rub all of the knots out of Patterson’s back.

“You’re the lucky one,” Patterson said, but then Doc pushed a knuckle into a particularly tense spot and Patterson ended up groaning into the pillow.

Doc worked lower and lower. Patterson’s breathing slowed into deep relaxation until Doc arrived at his buttocks. Doc smirked at Patterson’s shallow gasp when he ran his fingers down the cleft of Patterson’s ass.

“Shhhh. Relax,” Doc whispered.

Patterson snorted. “Fuck you. Put those fingers to work.”

Doc’s fingers slid down the cleft of Patterson’s ass again and again, spreading the oil to where it was needed. He never quite gave Patterson the pressure he wanted, though. Teasing Bryan was truly one of Doc’s favorite hobbies.

“God, your hands, Tim. That feels so fucking good.”

Patterson arched off the bed slightly, seeking Doc’s hand. Doc laid down over Patterson’s back, pushing Patterson flat to the mattress but keeping his hand working slowly over Patterson’s asshole.

“How about I do one better?”

Patterson’s breath was coming fast again. “Fuck yes. Anything.”

Doc put an arm under Patterson’s waist and yanked him up on his knees. He pushed Patterson’s ass open and spit on his hole. Patterson moaned into his pillow. Then, Doc drove his firm tongue home. There was no way he’d ever get tired of doing this. Patterson giving himself over to Doc in this way and overtly begging for his touch was a dynamic that they didn’t go to very often. That made it all the sweeter.

The musky taste of Patterson’s hole made Doc hard. He pressed Patterson’s ass cheeks apart more firmly, wanting to push his tongue deeper. Patterson leaned back, wanting the same thing. The feeling of Patterson’s ass yielding under his mouth like this was too fucking hot.

“I want to fuck you,” Doc growled. “Let me.”

Patterson’s answer was to bring his hands back and hold his own ass open.

“Oh fuck yes,” Doc breathed. Patterson’s ass was already wet and red, and Doc was aching to fuck it. He thrust his cock along Patterson’s ass, rubbing through the excess oil on his skin. With every slide, he pressed the head of his cock firmly against Patterson’s hole.

“You’re such a fucking tease, Tim,” Patterson growled... or was it a whine. Doc smiled broadly.

“Shhhh. Let me make you feel good,” he responded. Just the head of his cock disappeared into Patterson’s ass and reemerged.

Patterson hissed. “Fuck! Tim!”

Doc pulled out completely and reached for the side table for the real lube. He took his time, enjoying the sight of Patterson squirming for more. Patterson had lowered his hips and was rubbing his dick on the sheets.

“Ass up,” Doc ordered.

“Fucking finally,” Patterson said.

“Oh, is that how this is going to be?” Doc put a healthy dollop of lube on his fingers and pushed two into Patterson’s ass. Patterson hissed at the cold, but rocked onto Doc’s fingers eagerly. “More?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Patterson sighed with frustration. “Yes please.”

“That’s right, daddy,” Doc smiled before he replaced his fingers with his dick and fucked slowly into Patterson. Inch by slow inch, he pushed in, savoring Patterson’s guttural moan and his deep heat, until he bottomed out against Patterson’s oily skin. Then he waited for Patterson to adjust, panting under him. Even if Patterson wanted it hard, Doc was not about to hurt him by going too soon.

“Please,” Patterson breathed.

Doc leaned over Patterson’s body, laying them down on the mattress and embracing him from behind as they started to fuck. Doc kept the burn slow. He focused on the beat of Patterson’s heartbeat along the side of his neck and on the tangle of their legs as Patterson locked him close. He breathed hard and steadily next to Patterson’s ear, taking huge pulls of Patterson’s scent off his skin.

“Bryan,” Doc sighed. He couldn’t help how needy and soft his voice sounded. “You feel so good. You smell so fucking good that sometimes I get half hard when you just walk by me. And your ass is goddamn perfect, sir.”

“You know you’re the only one I ever let fuck it,” Patterson said. He turned his head over his shoulder and Doc stretched to kiss him.

“I do know that, and I love that fact,” Doc said. He put his hands over Patterson’s and threaded their fingers together. All the while, he slid smoothly in and out of Patterson’s ass.

Patterson grunted and tried to shift his hips along the bed for more friction.

“Not yet,” Doc said. He gave Patterson the concession of increasing the pace, though.

Their sweat was making everything slick. Patterson’s groans were almost constant as the burn of the fuck took him close to the edge. Doc knew Patterson never came without some direct stimulation of his cock, but he wasn’t quite ready to get Patterson off. He wanted to keep up their slow pace until they felt consumed by each other.

“Tim, you have to let me--”

Patterson pushed to roll over, and Doc let him. Patterson drew his knees up willingly. Immediately Doc pushed back into him and kept the slow pace. His forearms pressed into the bed alongside Patterson’s head, and they breathed each other’s heated exhales. Patterson’s cock was hard between them. Doc could feel the slickness of its head rubbing across his abs with every move of their hips. Patterson wrapped his hands up around Doc’s shoulders, pulling on them to get Doc to go even deeper.

“Fuck me,” Patterson chanted under his breath.

Doc felt the ache of his orgasm growing. He slid his arms under Patterson’s back, clinging to him and hammered his hips deep. Patterson forced a hand between them to grip his cock.

“Come for me, Doc,” Patterson said with a low voice. His voice cracked and it was more of a beg than a command. Patterson begging for him was what sent Doc over the edge.

Through Doc’s blinding orgasm, Patterson clung to him. Patterson was squeezing the head of his own cock between them. Doc dragged in a huge breath and regained enough sense to pull out and slide down Patterson’s body. Doc’s cock was still pulsing and leaking when he swallowed Patterson down to the back of his throat. He pushed three fingers into Patterson’s ass and sucked hard. Patterson didn’t stand a chance.

“Shit,” Patterson exclaimed, sitting up with the intensity of his orgasm and then immediately falling hard back on the pillows for one last thrust into Doc’s mouth.

Patterson mumbled some sappy, nearly incoherent sweet nothings as he dragged Doc up to the top of the bed. He trapped Doc in a hug. Doc huffed a laugh at the blissed out smile on Patterson’s face. He kissed Patterson’s lips, and Patterson only managed a tired, thoroughly fucked, satisfied pucker in return.

****

Walt woke up groggy. The bedside clock read a sleep-blurred 01:17. He closed his eyes again and reached his arm out to feel for Ray. The bed was cold.

“Ray,” Walt called out sleepily, voice cracking and dry.

Walt drifted to sleep again for a few seconds, then Ray was sitting on the side of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Ray whispered.

“You sleeping on the couch?” Walt had turned his face toward Ray, but his eyes were closed as he tried to stay awake.

“Yeah.”

“No you aren’t,” Walt said, and pulled Ray into the bed. He fell solidly asleep again as soon as Ray settled himself in under the covers.

* * *

_Tuesday_

“I can’t watch another movie,” Walt groaned. The flopped his head against the back of the couch and turned to look at Ray. “That’s like five in the last 2 days.”

“Gunny said you have to take it easy,” Ray said.

“He said take it easy, not enter a vegetative state.”

“Ok, then,” Ray said, with a fake English accent, “May I suggest a book on the balcony or a satisfying soak in the tub, sir.”

“Fuck you. I just need to move around and do something.”

“You farm boys are all alike. Fine. I think I might have jokingly told the EMT that I’d make him cookies if you made it through -- or maybe I only thought that, I don’t know. It was kind of a blur.”

“I call chocolate chocolate chip.”

“It’s settled then,” Ray said with a smile. He helped Walt up from the sofa, earning a scowl for not letting Walt do it himself.

“Do you guys have the ingredients? I mean, it’s not like either you or Brad are baking cookies regularly. Or... are you?” Walt asked, leaning on Ray as they made their way to the kitchen. He didn’t strictly _need_ to lean on Ray this much -- he was actually feeling pretty good, all things considered -- but it felt comforting and Walt was definitely not above accepting a little comfort right now.

“Good point. I know where Doc and Patterson hide their extra key, though.”

Patterson and Doc lived on the top floor of the same building that Ray and Brad lived in. Ray liked to tease them about being rich playboys lounging around in their penthouse. In reality, it was a nice apartment -- certainly less utilitarian than Ray and Brad’s place -- but Patterson had assured them all that it wasn’t Tom Ford designed. (“He hasn’t had the privilege of seeing the inside of our apartment. Yet,” Patterson had said.) The only thing Ray cared about right now was getting upstairs and into their pantry.

Ray dug through the junk drawer and slid a walkie talkie across the kitchen table to Walt.

“I’m going in. Radio up the ingredients.”

Walt forgot to be scared when Ray went upstairs.

****

“Mike?” Nate yelled into the apartment as he was hurriedly getting his shoes on. He had class soon.

“Yeah?” Gunny yelled back.

“What’s your schedule for this week?”

Gunny came out into the hallway. “Why?”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

They had a stare-off. Nate wondered if Gunny was holding something back -- possibly about Kocher -- or if he was giving Nate a hard time about whatever this was with Brad.

Nate broke the silence. “I’m just wondering which nights you have overnight shifts.”

Gunny raised his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you, but only if I can put a necktie on the door on Thursday.”

Nate raised his eyebrows and smirked.

****

Ray came back to the apartment with two entire grocery bags of stuff.

“The fuck? I’m pretty sure that the recipe doesn’t require a frozen pizza,” Walt said as he was unloading Ray’s plunder.

“ _I_ require a frozen pizza. Plus, they had others in the freezer. It’s not like I took _all_ of their food. And I left them the kinky shit. There is a whole shelf of different olive oils. You can’t tell me that’s all for cooking.”

Walt snorted and held up the cookie sheet. “I’m preheating and got this greased up.”

“That’s what he said,” Ray said. He was horrified for a second, because... well, obviously it was too fucking soon for that kind of joke. But Walt snorted a laugh at that too, and Ray relaxed.

They basically giggled their way through making an absolute disaster of the kitchen. Ray’s hair was more gray than black with the amount of flour dusted over it. He had shed his shirt somewhere along the way and found an apron that said _Is It Hot In Here or Is It Just Me?_  Walt managed to actually get the batter made somehow during all of the singing and minor food fights.

Ray dipped his finger in and painted two chocolate streaks on Walt’s cheeks like he was a football player. That’s when things got a little off-normal.

Walt’s good arm shot out and caught Ray’s wrist. He brought Ray’s finger to his mouth and licked it clean.

Ok, that’s when things got a LOT off-normal. Walt froze. Ray froze. Ray definitely felt that all the way down in his dick.

“Oh... um--” Walt started.

Then the front door opened. Walt let go of Ray’s wrist and they looked anywhere but at each other. Brad was home and they were about to get told to clean this mess up.

****

“Um, hey Brad,” Ray said. Brad’s arrival was crazy perfect timing or crazy horrible timing. Ray didn’t know what the fuck that was that just happened.

Brad was scowling as he looked around the kitchen, but Ray figured they were probably safe because Brad wasn’t going to yell at Walt yet.

“You,” Brad pointed at Ray and then thumbed in the direction of the living room.

Walt met Ray’s eyes and they both tried not to laugh. (Ok, that was more normal.)

In the other room, Brad asked, “You’re not mixing the chemicals from underneath the sink, are you? Your people have ended up with two remaining teeth and patchy facial hair for doing that kind of thing as entertainment, Ray.”

“ _My_ people. At least we don’t sleep inside reindeer carcasses, you fucking Viking motherfucker,” Ray said, but they were both smiling.

“He’s doing ok?” Brad nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

“Yeah. He really is,” Ray said, smiling and catching a glimpse of Walt trying to tidy up in there.

“You doing ok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Brad raised an eyebrow.

Ray sighed. “Why do you always think you know exactly what I’m thinking, dude? Everything is fine.” Ok, so he was falling even deeper into unrequited love with their houseguest, but he was handling it. Kind of.

“If you say so,” Brad said.

Ray rolled his eyes.

“Alright then, here’s why I really am talking to your there’s-a-hole-in-the-bucket-Pa-Kettle, backwards ass. I want you to come back to work.”

Ray’s eyes went directly back to the kitchen and Walt. “Dude.”

“You said Walt is doing well. Other people can help, Ray.”

“Yeah, but...”

“But they’re not you?”

Ray looked back at Brad, angry. “You know what? Yes, that’s exactly why. I was the one... and then I... He... Shit.”

“ _Matilda’s_ needs you too, Ray. Halloween is coming up and I need to talk to you about some plans I’m making.”

Ray exhaled hard out of his nose. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

****

Walt was trying to dry some dishes. He had put the bowl on the counter and was trying to wipe it dry but it kept shifting out of the way. His slung up shoulder meant he couldn’t hold it with his other hand.

“Fuck!” Tears of frustration blurred his vision. He pushed harder. His movements got wild, and the bowl threatened to fall.

The apartment door closed as Brad left for work, and Ray came back into the kitchen. “Here. Let me help,” he said softly. Ray’s hands were reaching for the bowl and his face was wearing a soft smile that was supposed to ease Walt’s struggle. But it didn’t. It did the opposite.

“You know what? No! Fuck you! I don’t want your goddamn help! I just want to be able--”

Walt tried to move his bad arm and a dagger of pain tore through the strained tendons and muscles. Then he was crying hysterically. He threw the towel to the floor with an anguished roar. This felt like going down a swirling drain. The more he panicked, the more he pushed people around him -- Ray -- away, but he was unable to fight the current. Sobs wracked his body.

Ray tried to put his hands on Walt’s arms to calm him. “Walt...”

That sweet, patronizing gesture only made Walt freak out more. He slapped Ray across the face.

“Don’t touch me!”

Ray’s hand shot to his cheek. He looked shocked and hurt. But then something shifted in his eyes.

“Go to the bedroom and sit the fuck down,” Ray bellowed. His voice was forceful and it jolted Walt out of his panic. Ray’s eyes flared with a boiling, frustrated rage. His hand was still pressed against his cheek, now so hard that it was turning the surrounding skin white.

Walt gasped and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He lowered his eyes and went to sit on the edge of Ray’s bed. He held his breath. Had he just slapped Ray? Oh, fuck. Why would he do that? It was because he was definitely broken and sinking lower by the second. He felt weak, like his body was collapsing in on itself with weariness and pain. Maybe loneliness too.

Ray came into the room, wearing his own horrified look. His left cheek was livid. He looked mortified. They looked at each other for a long time, not sure what was next.

“Sorry--” they both started.

Walt started crying again. Ray slid onto the bed behind him and gently laid Walt against his chest.

“Sorry I hit you,” Walt whispered. His voice wouldn’t have gone louder unless it had been a scream.

“Sorry I ordered you around. I yelled at you and that’s seriously a fucked up thing to do,” Ray said.

It sounded awkward, but Walt didn’t care. He didn’t think Ray needed to apologize for anything anyway. He was grateful when Ray ran his cheek along his hair and slid an arm across his upper chest. Ray was carefully avoiding Walt’s sore shoulder.

“Just talk to me. I don’t want to think,” Walt said, voice trembling.

Ray was quiet for long enough that Walt thought for sure he was mad about getting slapped. Then he started [singing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-b7qaSxuZUg), quietly and kind of off-key.

_You may say I'm a dreamer,  
but I'm not the only one_

Walt was floored. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He grabbed Ray’s arm tightly, pulling it up against his cheek as the silent sobs wracked his body. Ray wrapped his legs up around Walt as well as he could and just held him while he sang softly.

Walt wasn’t numb anymore and it hurt so fucking much.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took liberties with the content of Brad’s tattoo.

_Wednesday, very early hours as Matilda’s is doing Tuesday night close_

Nate kept a discreet distance from Brad for the rest of the night, even keeping their little competition for the crowd’s attention to a minimum. Nate had to keep reminding himself that Brad was a coworker and, worse, his de facto boss while Godfather was out of town. On top of that, no one else needed to know about earlier; how it had been a whirlwind of hot-as-hell and completely inappropriate for the workplace. There was such a thing as decorum even for a man dancing around in nothing but 15 square inches of spandex.

Now it was closing time and Nate was going for it. The photobooth had definitely not been enough for him. He wanted Brad in his bed, be it a wise course of action or not.

Nate knew he was walking a thin line with this. Their flirting had been intense and immediate. He’d woken up in Brad’s bed twice already. And, possibly the harbinger of Nate’s starry-eyed demise, he’d been watching Brad too closely. Nate had seen Brad caring so intensely about the guys who worked here that cracks had started forming in Brad’s obviously rarely penetrated veneer. Nate figured it was a safe bet that those cracks contributed to Brad breaking his own rule with Nate earlier tonight. There was a slippery slope between seeing all of that and falling headlong into something treacherous for Nate’s emotions. The cracks in Brad’s veneer would eventually heal and then where would Nate be with his crush on a guy who had moved on?

However, tonight Nate’s dick was apparently calling the shots. Maybe his head would still be able to control the aftermath.

He stood across the bar from Brad, who was wiping down the back counter and hadn’t noticed him yet. Having a physical barrier between them seemed like the wisest course of action for the time being. A few people were still loitering around _Matilda’s_ \-- Kocher and Manimal hadn’t kicked them all out yet -- and Nate didn’t really trust himself within touching distance of Brad if they were going to manage this discreetly.

There was a towel tucked into the center back of Brad’s pants. It obscured his tattoo a bit. Nate studied the part he could see... a sword, the arching back of a snake or a dragon? He hadn’t really gotten a good look at it when he stayed over at Brad’s place after Walt’s attack. Or maybe Nate had and he’d lost the memory in the crazy blur of that night. His eyes roamed up the lean muscles of Brad’s back.

“Are you ogling me?” Brad asked.

He locked eyes with Nate in the mirror behind the bar and smirked. Nate shrugged and smiled back.

“Is that a problem?”

Brad turned and tossed Nate a bar towel to dry off. Nate ran the towel slowly across his lower stomach, the memory of earlier still hot on his skin. Sharp jolts of electric arousal pulled at his cock with the brush of the towel and Brad’s following gaze. Nate brought the towel up to his chest and Brad’s dogtags jingled there, the only sure evidence of what had happened in the photobooth.

“Gunny is working a night shift at the hospital tonight,” Nate said, his tone aiming for casual. He was giving Brad an easy out if he wanted to take it. Maybe the photobooth had scratched that particular itch for Brad.

Or maybe not, because Brad’s eyes flared.

“Ten minutes,” Brad said.

Nate felt like he’d just won a victory. Still, the logical side of his brain was telling him to be cautious. Brad Colbert had to be too good to be true.

****

Ray woke up when his phone beeped. Walt was still leaning up against him, just the way they’d fallen asleep together. Ray had held Walt until his tears had stopped and his body had relaxed. The soft, even sound of Walt’s breathing and the warm pressure of his body against Ray’s had finally sent Ray off to sleep too. Ray couldn’t believe how easily Walt had forgiven him for losing his temper and yelling. That shit had been so wrong, especially since Gunny had warned Ray that Walt could act erratically.

The clock read 02:34. _Matilda’s_ would be closed for the night by now. Ray dug his phone out of his pocket, trying not to jostle Walt awake.

  
_won’t be home tonight. text if Walt needs anything_.

Ray smiled a little. “Get some, Brad,” he breathed almost silently. He wondered if he personally would ever get some ever again. It’s not like he could start anything with Walt; it was like he’d forgotten how, despite the fact that Walt was laying _on_ him right now. Ray was destined to a life lived in the ‘friend material’ slot.

Ray also wondered how good a bet it was that Brad was going to Nate’s place.

There was another message on his phone that had come at almost the same time as Brad’s. This one was from Lilley.

_SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT. I HAEV THE BEST THING I EVER SEEN IN MY WHOLE LIFE. Call me when u get this. Trust me. Its 2 awesome._

Ray decided whatever Lilley was talking about could wait. Walt was peaceful and sleeping soundly right now. Ray didn’t want to mess that up.

****

Brad had to admit it to himself: he was setting the land speed record here to finish the last of the evening checklist. Screw trying to not look eager. He had pornographic photos of the two of them burning a hole in his pocket. The sooner they got to take advantage of Gunny’s work schedule, the better.

God, he hadn’t felt like this in... maybe ever. Was he actually _giddy_? Fuck. He was acting like a kid with a stupid crush. _Was_ he a kid with a crush? For that matter, who _wouldn’t_ want Nate Fick? Smart, gorgeous, moved his body like porn incarnate... Brad could even acknowledge that Nate had propped him up emotionally after Walt had been attacked, and not everyone could do or would want that job.

Maybe Brad just needed to get laid.

Definitely he hadn’t smiled this much since way before he walked in on his boyfriend and his best friend fucking in _his_ goddamn bed and that had been back in New York. It’d been years. That thought made him pause for a second and run the clean side of the towel over his face. He looked down the hallway toward the dressing room, and all he could see was the mental picture of Nate’s perfect green eyes.

“Fuck it,” Brad said to himself.

He jogged to the dressing room and grabbed a t-shirt out of his locker. He threw it on, noting the conspicuous absence of his dogtags. He smiled, considering where the dogtags really were.

<< _Presumptuous, this one,_ >> Brad thought and smiled a little more broadly.

Very presumptuous indeed, since Nate had left the door to the bathroom ajar. How was Brad supposed to even begin to resist that? There might as well have been a trail of breadcrumbs (or lube and condoms) to the shower.

He pressed the door open and a wave of hot, humid air washed over him. The scent of Nate’s shampoo filled the small room. It perfectly suited Nate: clean and unpretentious. The translucent shower curtain gave a glimpse of Nate’s naked form. God, he had a fantastic ass. The curve above a guy’s ass was Brad’s absolute favorite, and Nate... Brad’s hands reached out and gripped the door jamb to let a pulse of lust flow through him.

Brad peeked behind the curtain. “Pardon me for stating the obvious, Nate,” Brad said, his voice sounding a little more gravelly than normal. “But _goddamn_.”

Nate brushed the water off of his eyes. “Someone is anxious,” he teased, looking back over his shoulder.

“Want some company?”

Hell, his rule was totally blown to shit tonight, wasn’t it? Brad always -- until Nate Fick, apparently -- kept work and personal stuff separate. Tonight he’d already been mutually jerked off by Nate in the photobooth, so his rule was obviously shattered.

<< _Just for this one guy, maybe,_ >> Brad thought as Nate turned to face him. Brad’s own dogtags glistening there on Nate’s naked chest didn’t help matters.

Nate slowly reached out and fisted both hands into the front of Brad’s t-shirt.

“If you’re going to take my offer of company, I’ll take off my--” Brad began.

Nate yanked Brad’s upper body under the water and was kissing him deeply. The heat of Nate’s tongue on his made Brad’s cock respond with a surging throb. One of Nate’s wet hands slid up the front of Brad’s neck. The other gripped his bicep, urging Brad’s arms to encircle him. Brad pulled Nate to him hard, Nate’s slick back under his hands and his beautiful lips against Brad’s. In the haze of lust, Brad wondered if Nate could give a blowjob that rivaled this kiss.

Nate’s mouth moved to suck Brad’s earlobe and Brad had that Pavlovian response. This time it took the form of a barely-there shiver. Nate was panting against his ear. The needy sound of it made heat pool in Brad’s groin.

“I will definitely take you up on the offer of company, but I’m thinking a bed will be nicer,” Nate whispered over the drumming of the water. His lips brushed the shell of Brad’s ear as he spoke. “Give me one more minute to rinse the soap off.”

Nate shoved him playfully back out of the shower and Brad was left breathless and smiling.

Brad was dripping everywhere above the waist when he walked dazedly back to his locker for another shirt. He ran a finger absently across his lips, then over his earlobe, savoring Nate’s touch. Brad was just about to wonder if he was completely done for when Patterson and Doc came in and gave him a curious look.

“Gunny shouldn’t be back until 9:00, so we’ll have plenty of--” Nate was saying as he came out of the bathroom, still wrapping the towel low around his waist. He froze when he saw Patterson and Doc.

“By all means, gentlemen, carry on,” Patterson smirked. He and Doc shared a irritatingly knowing look. Doc grabbed his sketchpad off of one of the benches and pointed at Nate and Brad with it.

“Don’t fuck up the merchandise,” Doc said to Brad. “You either,” he said to Nate.

****

Ray’s phone rang, startling both of them awake. Walt spasmed, a strangled yelp catching in his throat. Ray wrapped his legs around him again.

“What,” Ray said, answering the phone without even looking who it was. He already had a pretty good guess.

“Brah! I’m coming over. Is Brad there?”

“No. What do you want.”

“Awesome. I’ll show you when I get there. I’m bringing Q-Tip and Christeson.”

Lilley abruptly hung up the phone and Ray growled his displeasure, thunking his phone against his forehead in exasperation.

“What was that about?” Walt turned to look at Ray.

“Our slumber party is about to get crashed. You ready to see the guys?” Ray tried to smile.

Walt smiled back sincerely; of course he did, because he was basically selfless and perfect. “Why not. They can eat the reject cookies.”

****

They were probably lucky that the neighbors didn’t call the cops on them on their way from Nate’s car up the stairs to his apartment. Brad had tugged Nate around and pushed him against the wall of the stairwell. It had thudded loud enough to make them both laugh through their kiss. Nate tried to say “shhh” but Brad’s mouth was too insistent. Brad rocked his hips against Nate. Nate pushed his thigh between Brad’s legs with a stuttering exhale. The feel of Nate’s growing hardness was enough to make Brad moan a little too loudly into Nate’s mouth. He couldn’t help himself. He really wanted this guy.

“God, yes,” Nate responded, grabbing handfuls of Brad’s ass and grinding hard along Brad’s leg. “No. Wait, wait,” Nate laughed against Brad’s lips. “We should just get inside. Bed.”

“You don’t think your neighbors would enjoy the show?” Brad asked, wrapping his fingers through Nate’s. He quickly pinned Nate’s hands to the wall above Nate’s head -- again, making a thudding noise that echoed in the stairwell -- and Brad nipped at Nate’s lips. He teased Nate with soft pecks on his lips until Nate grunted his frustration. Then Brad kissed him hard and wet. Every nerve ending felt alight. Nate’s gasping breaths and eager tongue; his restless, sinuous movements against Brad were making Brad ache with want.

Nate pulled his hands free and grabbed Brad by the waistband. He dragged them both up the last few stairs, panting and laughing. Nate gave an aborted try to blindly get his key in the lock, but he was too preoccupied with getting his mouth on Brad’s skin and his keys fell to the floor.

Nate brought their linked hands to his lips. He looked Brad in the eyes and ran his lips up the side of Brad’s index finger, pausing at the tip, and then slowly dragging his lips back down to Brad’s wrist. He bit the side of his lip and looked at Brad through his lashes. That innocent look on Nate was absolutely wicked.

“Fuck, Nate,” Brad breathed. “Get that goddamn door open.”

Nate turned to pick up his keys from the floor. Brad couldn’t help grabbing Nate’s hips and pressing his groin against Nate’s ass. Nate’s key scratched the paint on the door as he stifled a groan and leaned his hips back into Brad’s grinding pressure. Nate’s hands grabbed at the door frame and he rubbed his ass against Brad. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Keep it up, Brad, and I might be convinced that fucking on the stairs is the right idea,” Nate said breathily. His eyes flashed with lust. Something shivery and heated flowed through Brad at the sound of Nate saying his name.

Brad grabbed Nate’s hand with the keys in it and guided it to the lock. Finally the key seated and Nate threw the door open, making it crash against the hallway wall. He dragged Brad inside by the wrist. Nate chucked his housekeys at the table, but they slid to the floor with a clang.

As soon as the door slammed closed, their hands were working each other’s pants unzipped. Nate’s eyes flashed green in a sliver of light from the next room. Brad could read Nate’s thirst in his eyes as they kissed and struggled out of their clothes, laughing at their own desperation. Brad almost tripped over his shoes as he kicked them off. Nate got caught up in his shirt as he pulled it over his head. They were both acting like they’d never gotten their dicks sucked before.

Finally they got their pants open far enough and their fists closed around each other’s cocks again, just like hours earlier in the photobooth.

“Fuck,” Nate breathed. His fingers tightened around the back of Brad’s neck and his other fist squeezed Brad’s dick. “Brad--”

“Last chance to preserve common sense,” Brad groaned.

Brad felt momentarily cold when Nate’s hands released him. Nate pushed Brad’s pants down unceremoniously.

“Pretty sure I lost all common sense when I saw you behind the bar on Friday,” Nate said, eyes flaring.

Nate dropped to his knees and looked up at Brad. Brad’s mostly hard cock spasmed when Nate licked his lips and smirked. His face was glowing with excitement, and Brad felt his face flush at the sight. Nate slid his wet lips across the head of Brad’s cock.

“So dangerous,” Brad said, running a hand through Nate’s hair. This was something Brad could get used to.

Nate laughed and ran his tongue over the head of Brad’s dick.

“Unh, fuck yes,” Brad said. His words reverberated around the hallway, surprising him with how loud Nate was making him with the first touch of his mouth.

Nate must have taken it as the rallying call, because he went down on Brad’s dick with a vengeance. Straight to the back of his throat, a hum of pleasure, and a slurping upswing. Brad couldn’t help his knees softening for a brief second. The sight of Nate’s pink mouth around his cock like this was enough to make his balls threaten to rise.

“You don’t get all the fun,” Brad said.

He pushed Nate onto the hallway floor and yanked his jeans down to his knees. Nate’s underwear slid down to his hips, giving Brad that view that he’d been fantasizing about. The base of Nate’s cock was just visible at the waistband. Brad immediately ran his lips through Nate’s neatly groomed hair.

Brad had both hands poised, ready to pull down Nate’s briefs, when he paused and looked up Nate’s flat stomach to see Nate watching his every move with a dazed hunger.

“I almost took a break on Friday night just to go in the back and jerk off to the thought of this right here,” Brad said. “The way you had your shorts so low... You’re a tease, Nate.”

Nate smiled, a little bewildered maybe, but mostly the lust on his face was undeniable.

“That was all because of you,” Nate said, blushing high on his cheeks even though he forthrightly kept eye contact.

Brad mouthed the base of Nate’s cock without pulling his underwear lower yet. He was rewarded with the catch of Nate’s breath in his throat and a spasm of Nate’s dick. Brad threaded one of his hands up the leg of Nate’s briefs and stroked Nate’s balls.

“Fuck, Brad. Don’t tease me.”

“Are you in a hurry?” Brad was placing wet kisses into Nate’s hair, but he wasn’t going lower.

“Yes,” Nate said matter-of-factly and pushed his own underwear off. Brad had to admit he really liked that quality in Nate.

Brad murmured, “You’re so gorgeous,” and slowly descended on Nate’s cock. He tasted vaguely of soap, and Brad almost wished Nate hadn’t showered before they came here. Brad wanted to know exactly how Nate’s sweat tasted, how it smelled. He wanted to know everything about what turned Nate on. He sucked on Nate’s balls and then went back to his cock, over and over again, savoring the quiet hitching of Nate’s breath. Nate’s hips flexed subtly, getting a fraction of inch further into Brad’s mouth.

“I need you to turn around,” Nate said abruptly, half sitting up to grab for Brad’s ass. “Turn around, Brad. I want you in my mouth. Now.” There was a note of urgency under his firm voice.

Brad spun, trying not to take his mouth off of Nate’s cock. His hand slipped through his saliva, pumping Nate hard. Nate’s foreskin was pulled back from the head of his cock; Brad pushed it back and ran his tongue around its sensitive edge, before retracting it again and sucking hard. Brad felt weirdly delirious, and he gasped a laugh. He wanted to make Nate come right here, barely on the right side of his apartment door, laying in a haphazard pile of their clothes.

Then the shocking, wet heat of Nate’s mouth was on him again. Nate swallowed him down to his base, flexing his abs and pulling hard on Brad’s hips to fuck his mouth up onto Brad’s straining erection. The white heat of Brad’s surging lust surprised him with its suddenness. Yeah it’d been a couple of weeks since he’d gotten fucked, but holy shit.

Brad looked back between their bodies and watched Nate work him. In the dim light of the hallway, he could still see the shine of his dogtags shifting across Nate’s chest.

“Fuck, Nate.” Brad fisted his hand at the base of Nate’s dick and used the other to balance himself as he panted to regain control. Nate had an undeniably talented mouth and Brad jerked with pleasure as he worked him deep and fast. Nate’s hands looped over Brad’s hips and grabbed handfuls of his ass.

Brad groaned and sucked down Nate’s length again. He wanted to taste the tang of Nate’s pre-cum while Nate was tasting his. Nate planted his feet when Brad sucked him down, and Nate’s hips thrust off the floor. Nate moaned from between Brad’s legs.

But Brad couldn’t last, not with this perfect man under him. His moans quickly grew louder and his hips involuntarily, erratically swung to the rhythm of Nate’s tongue. Brad’s body tensed and spasmed as he came yelling Nate’s name loud enough for the neighbors to surely hear.

Brad panted against Nate’s thigh, hunched gracelessly over Nate’s body while he tried to get his brain to work again. Brad sloppily kissed Nate’s inner thighs, groin, and erection; whatever he could reach. His heart was thudding through his whole body as Nate continued to mouth Brad’s softening cock. He buzzed with waves of pleasure so intense that he laughed. As they gradually subsided, Brad was overwhelmed with the single-minded need to make Nate feel the same blissful way. He redoubled his efforts on Nate’s dick. One hand on Nate’s balls, the other on Nate’s straining cock, chasing Brad’s desperate mouth. He added a twist of his hand and Nate panted hard. His hot breath blew past Brad’s dick and Brad twitched.

Nate’s whole body was tense. He wrapped his arms tightly around Brad’s hips and inhaled small, incoherent words. Unlike Brad, Nate was quiet when he came. He held his breath as his come spurted across Brad’s tongue. His hands scrabbled against Brad’s sweaty hips and back; he jerked underneath Brad.

“Oooh, fuck yes,” Nate exhaled quietly and collapsed. Brad smiled when he felt Nate frantically kissing any of Brad’s skin he could reach; the same thing Brad had just done.

Brad collapsed too, half on and half off Nate, resting his head on Nate’s thigh and gripping Nate’s ankle loosely. They laid that way, on the floor of the hallway with clothes and shoes scattered around them, for a while. Finally, Brad rolled himself around in the tight space so they were face-to-face. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Nate. Brad wondered if he looked half as debauched as Nate did, because holy hell. Brad’s dick gave a valiant jerk.

“So much for making it to the bedroom,” Nate laughed, running a hand through his hair.

They didn’t even make it to the couch.

****

When Ray opened the door, it was just a blur of bodies flying toward Walt. Walt knew it was Lilley, Q-Tip, and Christeson, but it still freaked him out a little and he cringed deeper into the sofa.

“What, are you guys actually retarded?” Ray yelled. “Don’t mob him like that!”

“I’m ok,” Walt said softly to Ray. Then, to the guys, “Hey, it’s good to see you.” It was really good to see them.

Christeson sat down on the couch next to Walt, crossing his legs at the knee. Q-Tip parked himself on the coffee table right in front of Walt, elbows on his knees and leaning into Walt’s space. Lilley turned left and went straight for the fridge.

“Still as pretty as ever,” Christeson said, gently running a finger across one of the bruises on Walt’s cheek.

Walt saw Ray bristle.

“Thanks. I’m doing good,” Walt said more to Ray than to Christeson.

(“Hey! Cookies!” Lilley said from the kitchen.)

“Everyone misses you, bro,” Q-Tip said.

Walt nodded. “I’ll be back.”

Lilley came back with the plate of cookies and a six pack from the fridge. “Down to the evening’s business, boys. Crack open a beer ‘cause you’re gonna want one.”

Q-Tip happily shoved a beer at Walt.

“Can’t. Pain meds.”

Q-Tip looked sorry. Walt really hoped it wasn’t pity. He didn’t want any pity.

“Listen, Walt. Sorry about what happened,” Q-Tip said quietly, interrupting the show Lilley was trying to start.

“Yeah,” Christeson agreed.

“Totally, brah,” Lilley said seriously.

It was the ridiculously somber look on Lilley’s face that did it. Walt burst into laughter. He wasn’t even sure what was funny exactly. His emotions were all over the place and it was making him feel like a crazy person.

“You-- you guys--,” he gasped between laughs. “You guys, I’m getting better.” He wiped the random tears of laughter off his cheeks as Ray slid onto the couch next to him. Walt looked at Ray and smiled. “I’m gonna be fine.”

There was an almost too-long moment where Walt kept looking at Ray’s soft brown eyes. Then Ray broke their eye contact.

“What did you come over here for at a quarter-to-shit in the morning, Lilley? This better be good,” Ray grumbled.

“It is,” all three of them responded.

“So, I was putting away the photobooth at the end of the night. We had it out tonight to take some pictures for you, Walt. Thought it might cheer you up,” Lilley said.

“That’s nice of you,” Walt said. It really was nice.

“Here’s the ones from the guys,” Lilley said, handing over a few sets of pictures.

There were the usual suspects, all smiling and looking happy. Rudy and Pappy were holding up a “we miss you” sign and Pappy’s smile was even visible past the corners of his moustache. A couple of the regular customers were there, holding up their drinks to the camera in a toast to Walt.

“That’s cool,” Walt smiled. “Thanks, Lilley. That’s really cool.”

“You ain’t even seen the best part,” Q-Tip said.

“Pretty sure these weren’t specifically taken for you,” Lilley said, handing over another three strips of photos. “They were under the booth when I rolled it back into the storage closet. I hung the duplicates up in the office.”

Walt gaped and leaned to show Ray.

“Oh fuck,” Walt whispered. He looked at Ray and they both started laughing.

“I totally _knew_ that the new guy was going to crack that nut,” Lilley said.

“No shit that Brad just texted me he’s not coming home tonight,” Ray laughed.

“Those two are gonna break hearts when it comes out that it was love at first sight,” Walt said, waving the photos for emphasis.

“Also, this is damn good porn,” Ray said, turning one of the photo strips at an angle and bringing it closer to his face. “Jesus.”

Walt leaned against Ray and took a closer look too.

****

After a few long minutes of just breathing in comfortable silence, the floor was getting hard.

“You want a beer?” Nate’s lips moved against Brad’s hair. He even smelled exceptionally good.

“Yep,” Brad said, turning to smile up at Nate. “Especially if it’s located somewhere between here and your bed.”

Nate huffed a laugh. “Trying to impress me with your prowess? Ready to go again?”

“If you’re impressed, that’s bonus. I was just thinking I’d like a nap now that you’ve tired me out. Unless you make all of your dates sleep on the floor.” Brad’s grin was somewhere between sleepily satisfied and hungry for round three. His hand was draped over Nate’s stomach, and Brad tickled Nate’s side with his fingers.

“Handsome _and_ funny,” Nate said. He poked at Brad’s ribs. “Up.”

Nate walked ahead of Brad into the kitchen. He could feel Brad’s gaze on him, still heated despite the night’s double header.

They stood in front of the open door of the fridge, using the chilled air to cool down. They were sizing each other up. This was the first real look at each other naked. Nate was not surprised to like what he was seeing. The cut of Brad’s abdominals was particularly nice.

Brad looked perfectly at ease, elbow up against the freezer door and beer bottle hanging loosely in his opposite hand. No wonder men basically threw themselves over _Matilda’s_ bar to get a piece. Just enough ego to add to his appeal. Knowing what was under that shell, however, was really what Nate wanted even though he knew he shouldn’t want it at all. It’s not like he was misinformed about the definition of a one-night stand.

They still had the rest of the night and Nate was going to make the most of it. He pushed the fridge closed and pushed into Brad’s space.

****

Christeson pulled a deck of cards out of somewhere and suddenly they were playing poker. Ray rigged up one of his old music stands so Walt could use that to hold his cards instead of trying to do it one handed. He turned on some [music](http://accol.tumblr.com/post/15302880506/drewmonge-real-life-send-me-an-angel), and they spent the next hour laughing about how pathetic Lilley’s attempted cardsharking was and speculating at what exactly was going on right now with Brad and Nate. The beer was long gone and now Lilley, Q-Tip, and Christeson were diving into an old, randomly discovered bottle of peach schnapps. Lilley had been looking for more cookies and Walt had diverted him with it to save the non-reject cookies for Aubin.

“Soooooooooo,” Christeson drawled after he folded another hand. He smiled from under his long, mascaraed eyelashes. “What’s going on with you two?”

Q-Tip and Lilley stopped playing out the hand and goggled at Ray and Walt.

“Nothing,” they both said immediately. Walt studied his cards instead of looking at Ray.

“Mmhmm,” Christeson said, obviously not believing it. “I’ve seen you all up in each other’s space all night.”

“I’m just helping,” Ray mumbled.

Walt felt his barely controlled emotions start swinging out of whack again. “I don’t need anyone’s pity!” He breathed hard, chest heaving as he tried to get himself under control.

“Walt--” Ray’s eyebrows were pulling together.

“I need some sleep,” Walt said through gritted teeth.

Walt went into the bedroom and slammed the door. He crawled under the covers. Despite himself, he felt comforted by the smell of Ray all over everything. It had to be too soon for him to want someone, right?

He needed to write to Mattis.

****

Everything was finally slowed down and less about the frantic need to get each other off as quickly as possible. Nate had his hands on Brad’s hips as he kissed Brad across the living room and into his bed. Nate fell alongside Brad and their legs tangled, warm skin against warm skin.

Between kisses, they talked. It was easy like at the cafe yesterday afternoon.

“Roll over,” Nate said against Brad’s lips.

Brad’s eyebrow quirked as he contemplated Nate’s order, but he flipped onto his stomach on the bed. Nate straddled Brad’s legs and ran his hands down Brad’s back.

In the low light of his bedside lamp, Nate finally could see the whole of Brad’s tattoo as it descended down one hip and onto the back of his thigh. Nate put his palm on the small of Brad’s back and the ink laced and looped from beneath his touch.

“Brad... wow,” Nate said softly. He ran a fingertip down Brad’s skin to the very tip of the creature’s tail on Brad’s leg. “Tell me about it.”

Brad turned his face the side to look back at Nate. He paused to study Nate’s face for a long moment. Nate wondered what Brad was seeing there.

“When I was a kid -- when I was confused,” Brad said, and Nate nodded in understanding. They’d all gone through that. “I was probably 11 -- I got into reading Norse mythology. There is a story about Sigurd who killed a dragon that symbolized greed and selfishness. It just resonated with me, so right around the time I moved down here from New York, I got tattooed.”

“Sigurd as in Siegfried? From the Wagner opera?”

“Wait now. You’re an opera fan and a trained dancer? Were you birthed by a bunch of rich yuppies directly into the orchestra pit of the Met? How is anyone supposed to--” Brad started to roll over to smirk at Nate full-on, but Nate pinned him with his knees.

“Nope,” Nate said in response to Brad trying to roll over. “I’m not done looking.”

Brad snorted into Nate’s pillow. “Yes, the Wagner opera. You’re the first person that knew that.”

Nate smiled. He touched the tattooed sword; a gleaming icy silver with hints of yellow-gold.

“It makes me think of Hercules. I was just rereading the Twelve Labors for one of my classes.”

“I make you think of Hercules?”

“Yeah. God’s gift to mankind, right here,” Nate said sarcastically -- mostly sarcastically. “Except you’re obviously prettier.”

Brad snorted. “Says the prettiest man in all of Miami.”

“You should read some of the ancient Greek myths if you haven’t. They’re all about quests of honor. Heroes that have just as much intelligence as strength. Inspiring.”

“Ok, Professor. Tell me about Hercules.”

Nate ran his fingertips over Brad’s tattoo again. “To make a long story short, one of Hercules’ quests was to kill a dragon that Hera had guarding the golden apples of immortality. Hera made him into the constellation Draco after he was killed.”

This time, Nate let Brad roll over. Brad’s face looked thoughtful.

“Come here,” Brad said, pulling on the dogtags still around Nate’s neck.

The tip of Brad’s tongue licked at Nate’s lips. Nate met the challenge and they felt into a crescendoing wave of need again. Brad’s eyes said all Nate needed to know.

“Top or bottom?” Nate asked.

“Mostly top, but I switch on occasion,” Brad said between sucking kisses along Nate’s clavicle. “You?”

“Versatile.”

Brad looked up. The urgency in his eyes was clear. “How about tonight?”

“I warn you: when I bottom, I run the show,” Nate said. His fingers were playing with Brad’s nipples, pinching them gently.

Brad shook his forehead against Nate’s chest. “Nate, Nate, Nate,” he smiled. “First stealing the covers, now this?”

“I’m up-front about it,” Nate shrugged. “Sometimes people make assumptions based on my appearance and I prefer to cut those off at the pass.”

“You had me at ‘versatile,’” Brad said.

Nate barely had to give any orders. Brad was too damn close to perfect.

****

Forty-five minutes after he slammed the door, Walt was still laying there awake. It had gotten quiet out in the other room. The guys had gone a while ago, but Ray hadn’t come to bed.

Walt wondered if saying “nothing” to Christeson’s question had been true. Was he feeling something about Ray just because Ray was being good to him? It’d probably be a natural reaction to that. Ray had said “nothing” too. And what was Ray doing now? Avoiding Walt.

Walt sighed. He didn’t know what the fuck he wanted, but this bed felt cold. Plus, it was Ray’s anyway. Ray should be in it. That was enough of an excuse to get up and open the door.

Ray was laying on the couch, facing its back. Walt quietly sat on the coffee table. He tentatively put a hand on Ray’s shoulder.

“Ray?”

“What?” Ray didn’t turn around, but he sounded wide awake. Walt cringed at his cold tone.

“You should sleep in the bed. It’s yours.”

“Your shoulder is going to--”

“I don’t want you to baby me, Ray,” Walt interrupted immediately.

Ray finally turned over.

“Trying to do nice things for you when you’re injured is not the same thing as babying you,” Ray said angrily.

“I’ll sleep in Brad’s bed.”

“Walt,” Ray almost whined. He shook his head once and looked away for a second. “That’s not... Don’t... I...”

“It’s ok,” Walt said sadly. He went into Brad’s room and closed the door. He waited until he heard the door to Ray’s bedroom close, and then he fell into a fitful sleep.

****

Brad woke up with Nate’s nose against the side of his neck again. He smiled. This was definitely something he could get used to.

He gently turned just enough to get a good look at Nate. The morning sun was streaming into Nate’s room. That seemed just about right; Nate seemed like he’d be the kind of person who liked to wake warm with the sun. Brad’s eyes slowly wandered down Nate’s body. The sheet was at the foot of the bed. They’d made enough of their own warmth last night, Brad supposed, and he smiled again.

Nate’s skin was perfect. No scars, no tats, no piercings. Its smoothness matched the boyishness of his face. Brad’s fingers came up to sweep over the faint worry lines between Nate’s eyes. That was perfect too, because underneath it all Brad was sure that Nate was an old soul.

Brad laid a gentle kiss on Nate’s forehead and eased out of the bed for the bathroom. He wondered which things in here were his and which were Gunny’s. He flipped open the top of one of the shampoo bottles. Definitely Nate’s, and fuck if it didn’t make his cock twitch with the memory of last night. Brad smiled. He grabbed a little toothpaste and ran it over his teeth with his finger; he washed his face and dried off with a towel that smelled like Nate.

When he opened the door, he came face-to-face with a tired looking Gunny.

“Oh! Hey. Brad,” Gunny said, his eyes flicking down once and then purposefully staying up high and on the level.

“Hi,” Brad said, smirking at Gunny’s surprise.

“You, um, need a towel? They’re in the closet here. Help yourself.”

“I’ll wait for Nate,” Brad said, smiling enough to show his teeth. It’s possible he looked like he was going to eat Nate for breakfast. That was quite appealing, no doubt, but he’d be just as happy to laze around in the shower with Nate.

Gunny looked at Brad appraisingly and not altogether kindly. “Hm,” he said and disappeared behind his bedroom door.

Brad slid back into bed with Nate, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Hey,” Nate said sleepily.

“Hey. Your roommate is home from work.”

“Mm. Is he early? What time is it?” Nate stretched his legs and back.

“Clock reads 9:12.”

Nate sat bolt upright. “Shit. I have class in a half hour.”

Brad deflated. So much for his plans for a long shower together, a homemade breakfast, and teasing Nate about whether he really did have a vibrator hidden under his mattress. Basically a morning full of getting each other off and getting off on each other’s company.

“I should get out of your way then.”

****

Ten minutes later they were on the curb outside of Nate’s apartment.

“Here are my car keys so you can get back to your place,” Nate said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Just take the car, Brad. I’ll pick it up tonight after work.”

Brad held out his hand and took the keys from Nate. Nate hesitated for the shortest moment and then did what he’d been thinking about. In fact he was dreading it, but it had to be done.

“Thanks for last night,” Nate said and pulled Brad’s dogtags over his head. He let himself have one more touch and slipped them into Brad’s front pocket. Nate figured it was better this way. Give Brad an easy out if he wanted one.

Brad looked vaguely confused but then his face was shuttered.

“Yeah, ok. Thanks. See you at work tonight?”

“I’ll be there with little more than bells on,” Nate said, glad to see a little smile on Brad’s lips in response.

“Tease.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics in this chapter are from “Love Will Tear Us Apart” by Joy Division (the Trentemoller mix) and “That’s What I Get” by Nine Inch Nails.

_Wednesday_

Brad fiddled with the dogtags in his pocket as he walked into his apartment. He just about tossed Nate’s car keys on the table, but then thought better of it and put them in his other pocket. He worried at them with his fingers, keys in one hand and dogtags in the other, trying to figure out what happened just now.

Last night had been fucking outstanding, if Brad had to describe it. This morning had not. Or, perhaps it had just not gone to his inexplicably romantic daydream of a plan. He _liked_ Nate, so getting literally left at the curb really stung.

Brad stopped in the middle of the living room and harrumphed a bitter laugh at his realization: he was always the one that did the soft letdown for his one-night stands. Now he was apparently getting it back in spades.

He opened the door to his bedroom and there was Walt sleeping in his bed. That was... unexpected. Walt had been firmly planted in Ray’s bed since the first night back from the hospital.

The sound of the door opening woke up Walt with a start. He looked terrified for a split second, and then his face relaxed. “Oh, hey Brad. Sorry. I’ll get up.”

“Hey, no. Don’t get up. You’re good,” Brad said, holding his hands out to signal Walt should stay where he was. “Where’s Ray?”

“Asleep in his bed, I guess,” Walt said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes like a kid. He looked down at his lap. “Just... It’s fine.”

Brad sat down on the end of his bed. This sounded like something more than ‘it’s fine.’ “You sure?”

Walt shrugged with his good shoulder. “I guess it was good to be alone for a night.”

Brad looked at Walt for a couple of seconds, trying to size up the situation. He took a different tack. “How are you feeling? Still in a lot of pain?”

“Not so much. Just stiff mostly.” Walt rolled his shoulders and grimaced a little. Brad felt emotion knot in his gut. Walt could give them all lessons on how to live life without complaining about everything like pussies.

“I should have been around more, Walt. Sorry,” Brad said. He put a hand on Walt’s leg over the covers. His guilt twisted nauseatingly. He’d been working too much and trying to get into Nate’s pants when he should have been here for Walt. He should have been doing more.

“It’s ok. Ray’s been good--” Walt glanced toward Ray’s room, then he smiled too brightly and changed the subject. “How’s _Matilda’s_?”

“Busy without Godfather. Halloween is coming up fast. In fact, I need to talk to you about that. We’re going to run it as a benefit show.”

“Brad...” Walt looked down at his lap self-consciously.

“You can be as involved as you want. No pressure, but the community is motivated. The proceeds are going to go a charity. I want you to pick which one.”

Walt studied Brad’s face. “Ok,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yeah, ok. I can do that,” he convinced himself. “Thanks, Brad. What’s the show gonna be like?”

“The details I’m leaving up to the dancers. _Bravo_ is coming over to do a bit. Still need to figure out a headliner. Ray might know some people, but we have to find someone yesterday.”

“So, you’ve been busy with work... _and Nate_ ,“ Walt smiled, needling at Brad. Despite the touchy subject, Brad could be glad that Walt was acting like his usual mischievous self.

“You are un-fucking-believable,” Brad smiled. “What kind of gossip do you think you’ve been hearing?”

Walt laughed abruptly. “Three little birdies came by last night. It wasn’t hard to guess where you slept last night.”

Brad fiddled with his dogtags and Nate’s car keys again. “Yeah,” he replied quietly.

“Brad Colbert broke his golden rule,” Walt teased.

Brad snorted. “Yup.” He pulled the dogtags back out of his pocket and slipped them on again.

Walt beamed at him, barely holding in his laugh. “He gave those back, huh?”

Brad’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got surveillance on us?”

“Q-Tip said Nate had been wearing them last night,” Walt said. He was almost giggling.

“You want a pat on the back for guessing my type? It wasn’t a secret.”

Walt shrugged. “Don’t get all defensive,” he smiled. “I’m just saying Nate’s a good guy. He’s gonna be good for you. Just don’t fuck it up, I guess.” Then he mumbled, “I’m one to talk.”

“Hey. What’s going on really?” Brad asked softly.

Walt sighed roughly and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just messed up. It’ll pass.”

“You sure?”

“No, but I don’t really want to talk about it yet.”

Brad nodded. “Roger that. Breakfast?”

“Yeah, but can I use your computer for a minute? I need to send an email.”

****

_Dear James:_

_I thought I should send a note. Ray said you and Godfather went to visit some friends in San Francisco. I hope you are well. I’m getting better fast. At least my body is. Less sore, and I can move my shoulder better. Don’t have to wear the sling all the time anymore._

_Brad has been working like a nut to keep things running at Matilda’s and I know that T’na and Chrissy are getting good reviews at the Cabaret. Brad and Sixta shifted some people around to fill in the gaps and I think everything is going ok. Q-Tip, Chrissy, and Lilley came over last night to give me some pictures from the photobooth. That was nice. It’s nice that people are thinking of me._

_Brad mentioned that he wants to do the Halloween show as a charity event. I don’t really want my name out there yet, but I like the idea. Part of why I’m writing is that it’d be real nice if you and Godfather came back to be in the show. You know, if you feel up to it. Brad wants to get a headline act. I thought of how Godfather used to model. I know he’s still popular, even with the younger guys, so he could be a big draw. Think about it maybe?_

_And now the hard part of this email. I need some advice. I’m kind of all over the place with my emotions. The doctor said it could happen and I KNOW I should expect it, but it’s making me feel crazy. I don’t really know what my question is... I just feel like I’m a burden on Ray. He’s been staying with me and being so nice._

_The harder part is that I know that Ray likes me. Or that he liked me? I don’t know. I just might be leading him on accidentally, because it feels good to sleep in his bed with him and do stuff around the apartment together. If it’s ok to ask, when you and Godfather got together after this happened to you, did you feel like your feelings weren’t real? I’m worried that what I’m feeling about him is only because I need someone and he’s the one that’s here. And how soon is too soon? At the risk of TMI, sometimes I look at him and I want him. Like, WANT him. Is it too soon? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but the worst thing I can think of is fucking this up and losing him as a friend and blowing my chance with him as more._

_Anyway, any advice you could give would be great. I hope you’re feeling better too._

_Love,_   
_Walt_

****

Brad watched Walt push his eggs around with his toast.

“You know you can talk to me, Walt.”

Walt looked up and his eyes were shiny. He blinked. “I need...” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I need to know what happened in the alley. All of it.”

Brad turned off the burner on the stove and moved the pan to the side. He sat down across from Walt. “I only got there at the end. Nate and I heard pounding on the alley door, and it was Ray. We moved you inside and then the cops and paramedics came.”

“Do you know how... I mean, what exactly... when Ray...”

Brad exhaled through his nose. This fucking sucked. He understood why Walt wanted to know exactly what happened. He would too if it’d been him. He’d wanted to beat the shit out of the guys that did this to Walt.

“Walt, listen. I don’t know if Ray saved your life or just made the attack less bad. I do know that he didn’t leave your side until you got to the hospital and the doctors made him. He got back in there as soon as Gunny pulled some strings. You should have him tell you what you need to know. He was the one there.”

Walt blinked again and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can... I don’t know how to...”

Brad waited, but Walt abandoned his sentence. “Ray will tell you what you want to know.”

Walt nodded uncertainly and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.

“You want a cup of coffee?”

Walt nodded again.

Cue Ray Person. He came charging into the kitchen as soon as Brad mentioned the word coffee. It was like he had some sort of sixth sense about caffeinated beverages.

“Don’t touch my fucking stuff,” Ray growled at Brad, pretending as though Walt wasn’t even there.

Walt froze with his fork of scrambled eggs half-way to his mouth.

“I am not touching any of your stuff, Ray,” Brad said, unable to avoid an exasperated tone of voice.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Walt said. His fork clattered to his plate and he basically ran out of the room.

Brad watched Walt go and then turned to Ray. “What the fuck is going on with you two?”

“Nothing! Abso-fucking-nothing is going on!”

“Ray! Sit your ass in that chair,” Brad said.

Ray flopped down in one of the chairs -- the furthest one from where Walt had been sitting, Brad noted. Ray scowled. Brad almost told him to take this pouting shit and shove it, but he had a pretty good guess what was going on here.

Brad stared Ray down for a few seconds. “Why was Walt in my bed, Ray?”

“He volunteered to sleep there.”

Brad sighed. “Ray, just spit it out.”

“We sort of fought. What do you care? You’ve been off getting your dick sucked.”

Brad bristled at the truth and the implication that he didn’t care about Walt. “Are you seriously going to do this? Don’t pick a fight with me, Ray.”

Ray crossed his arms. God, Brad hated when Ray was like this.

“What did you fight about?” Brad asked quietly.

“He thinks that me helping him out is the same as babying him.”

“Is that all it was?”

Ray looked at Brad and then away, stiffening. “That’s it.”

Brad sighed. If Ray wasn’t ready to spill his unrequited feelings, Brad wasn’t going to drag it out of him. “It’s good you’re going back to work tonight.”

“No--”

Brad raised his voice a little. “It is. You need some time away to get your head right.”

****

 

  
By the time Walt finished showering, Ray had shut himself back in his room again. His music thudded through the door. Walt stood on the other side of it and tried to imagine Ray’s infectious smile. He wanted stuff to unfuck itself, but he didn’t know how to do it. Hopefully Mattis would know something that’d help.

Ray had made Walt a latte and left it at Walt’s spot on the table. It was warm in Walt’s hands; nice. It was really nice considering how shitty last night had been. Walt was regretting all of it. He knew he’d sounded ungrateful for the stuff Ray was doing. Mostly he was scared of losing Ray and of losing himself.

He would have rather had things be good between them than have this cup of coffee.

Brad was staring into his own cup.

“For a guy who got some last night, you look kinda bummed out. You ok?” Walt asked.

“Unclear.”

“Things with Nate were...not good?”

Brad sighed. “Actually, the opposite of that.” Walt noticed the crinkle of a smile in Brad’s eyes as he stared over Walt’s shoulder and remembered.

“But?”

Brad looked at Walt. “But this morning was not what I’d expected.” Now he was smiling with his mouth but it had faded from his eyes. This wasn’t good.

“You like him though, right?”

Brad grunted noncommittally and shoved away from the table to put his cup in the sink.

****

Nate was staring out the window, thinking about last night and trying not to react when the Twelve Labors came up during class discussion.

“Mr. Fick,” his professor said, snapping Nate back to the present. “I’m assuming that you’re thinking deep thoughts about how much you enjoy Herodotus instead of ignoring my lecture.”

Nate cleared his throat. “Yes, Sir.”

He stayed after class to apologize.

****

“I’m going for a run and then to work. You two, figure your shit out,” Brad said loudly, pounding on Ray’s door. Walt looked suitably mortified and shrank into the couch. If Walt didn’t want to be babied, Brad wasn’t going to baby him.

Brad needed to clear his head. This time he purposely avoided running across town to Nate’s campus.

What exactly had happened this morning? To recap: Try to snuggle; get dogtags back and an extremely awkward “see ya never” kind of goodbye. That had been preceded by some of the hottest sex and most exceptional flirting he’d experienced in who knows how long. And Nate was smart. Smart bumps a guy way up Brad’s list.

 _Matilda’s_ and its boys had been all over the fucking place with respect to their emotions the last few days. Brad was no exception. Then this new guy steps up and calmly walks Brad right down the center of it, no questions asked. This new, hot as fuck, ideal guy that Brad had already let past a whole bunch of his internal walls.

Brad took a hard right, ran across toward the beach and splashed some water over his head from a fountain to cool his thoughts. Nate Fick was apparently also the reigning king of mixed signals. He can’t flirt Brad out of his pants, be perfect in every way, and then just leave.

Brad resolved to ask Nate out on a date when he saw him tonight. Either Brad would have a date or he’d have some answers.

****

Nate’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he got off the bus on the corner of Collins and 41st. He wanted to walk; to clear his head. He wanted to consider the options and the circumstances. He intended to logic himself out of his current headspace.

“Hey,” Gunny said on the other end of the line.

“You didn’t sleep much,” Nate said. It wasn’t even 2:30.

Gunny grunted. “I was thinking about tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The big date with Eric.”

“Speaking of which, how was last night?”

“You are the biggest gossip, Mike,” Nate said, rolling his eyes as he walked down the ocean-side of the street.

“I just like to have the info. So?”

“You saw him in the hallway, so you’ve got the info already.”

“Spill it, Nate,” Gunny said. “You shuffled him outta there like the house was on fire.”

“I had class.”

“Come on,” Gunny drawled. “You could skip one class.”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Of course not, you fucking goody two shoes,” Gunny said affectionately. “Well? How was he?”

Nate sighed. “You are nosy. If you must know--”

“I must,” Gunny interrupted.

“Mike,” Nate cautioned. “It was great. It was so great that I’m being stupid.”

“Stupid? Nate Fick doesn’t do stupid, last I checked.”

Nate laughed bitterly. “This time yes.”

“Because?”

“Because I like him.”

“Why is that a problem? You just fucked him, didn’t you? Liking a guy is an acceptable precursor for that or have I been doin’ it wrong?”

“Mike.”

“Nate.”

Nate tensed the muscles in his jaw for a moment. “Brad has a reputation.”

“For being good in the sack?”

“That, and for having an infinite list of one-night stands. That is why liking him is not a good idea.”

“Is that so. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you are, in fact, bein’ stupid, but not for the reason you think. He looked like he was gonna eat you with a side of gravy when I saw him in the hallway this morning.”

“Exactly.”

“No, I mean, I don’t think he’s done with you yet.”

“Mike, this isn’t helping. I just can’t with this. Not right now. I have school, and I like this job. The distraction of getting my heart broken is not part of the plan, so last night was enough.”

“You should talk to him about it at least.”

“You nagging me is also not part of the plan, Mike.”

Gunny laughed on the other end of the line. “Someone’s gotta.”

“I’m at the club. We’ve got rehearsal for the Halloween show.”

“Is... um... Eric there?”

Nate smiled. “So the real reason for your call finally comes out.”

“Yeah, well...”

“Talk to you later, Mike.” Nate smiled knowingly at Kocher as he hung up and entered the club. “Mike says ‘hi.’ Have fun tomorrow.” Kocher smiled broadly, and Nate could easily see what had Mike so excited.

Nate rushed into the dressing room, giving Brad a cautious smile as he hurried past. Brad looked like he’d just gotten out of the shower; his hair was wet. The shower in the dressing room was still steamy. Nate forced his eyes away, but last night’s kiss was firmly and frustratingly planted in his mind. He threw his school stuff in his locker a little too hard.

He’d just pulled on his sweats when Brad walked in. Nate felt it in his dick when Brad stopped in his tracks and gave Nate a slow once over. It was like having Brad’s hands on him again. Nate pulled on his shirt.

“Hey,” Brad said, meeting Nate’s eyes. He was wearing a cautious smile too. “Here are your keys. Thanks.”

Their hands lingered for a little too long during the exchange. “No problem,” Nate said, trying not to shift on his feet. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“About last night--”

“It doesn’t have to be weird, Brad. We’re adults here,” Nate interjected. Listening to Brad try to let him down easy was not Nate’s idea of a good time.

Brad’s pupils constricted and his eyebrows came down a fraction of an inch. His smile faded.

“Nate! Let’s run the routine,” Christeson called down the hallway.

Nate tilted his head toward the dancers. He gave Brad a little smile and then jogged out to join them.

****

“One-and-a-two-and-a-three-and-a-four.”

Christeson and Teren were watching with diminishing patience as their chorus stomped their way through a practice session. The _Matilda’s_ dancers were milling around, waiting for their turn.

“No, no, no! Bitches, just stop,” Christeson said loudly, turning the music off. “Please. Go take ten and come back with some rhythm.”

After the dancers grumbled their way back to the dressing room, Teren said, “They’ll get it, Chrissy.”

“I know. I know! But we don’t have forever. Halloween is soon!”

“We sucked that much once and Jenn didn’t give up on us,” Teren said softly.

“There is no fucking way we sucked that much, T’na,” Christeson laughed.

“Yes, you did definitely suck that much,” Doc said, walking over.

Teren groaned. “Can you salvage it with some hot costumes at least?”

“You need to get your shit together. I’m not a miracle worker,” Doc said but, yes, he could salvage things. As always.

Fifteen minutes later, the dancers had on their costumes and Q-Tip had rubbed the knots out of Christeson’s shoulders. It might have helped that he whispered all sorts of sweet and dirty things to her, too.

Christeson counted off the dance again. This time [they did it](http://accol.tumblr.com/post/11548373513) almost perfectly. People weren’t gonna know what hit ‘em after Halloween at _Matilda’s_.

Doc looked smug until he turned and looked at the bar staff. Then he rolled his eyes.

“Dawg! What the fuck is this?” Poke had Trombley by the collar of his button front, tropical print shirt. Trombley had tucked it neatly into his belted chinos like Sixta had personally given him a lesson.

“Goddamn it. I have to start dressing the bartenders now too?” Doc asked the room with a distinct note of derision in his voice.

“I didn’t know. At _Bravo_ \--” Trombley started to defend himself, looking embarrassed.

Poke launched into a sermon. “At _Bravo_ , the sex is all up on the stage. At _Matilda’s_ , everyone is in on the act. You look like you just came from skinny white boy church, but you need to look like the fantasy that is going through everyone’s heads while they’re sitting in the pews. You gotta _represent_ , bro.”

“This is all I brought, though,” Trombley said.

“Jesus titty fucking Christ. Come with me,” Doc growled.

****

Ray and Walt tiptoed around each other at the apartment. Ray kept his earbuds in for most of the morning and early afternoon. Walt napped for a while on the couch and then read some book he said Nate gave him last week.

They purposefully were avoiding talking about it, whatever ‘it’ was.

Still, Ray couldn’t help watching Walt out of the corner of his eye. Walt was looking healthier every day. Yesterday there had even been some shiny and some happy mixed in there. Not so much today, and Ray felt like he could blame that on himself. He didn’t really know what he’d done wrong though. Probably he needed to just suck it up. Gunny had said it could be like this. Ray just didn’t know it would hurt this much... then he felt bad for being selfish since Walt was the one who was really hurt.

Five o’clock was there a lot sooner than Ray wanted it to be.

“I gotta go,” Ray said.

Walt looked up. He breathed deeply. It wavered a little bit as he exhaled. “I’m gonna hang out with Doc and Patterson. It’ll be fine.” Walt didn’t sound that convinced.

“I don’t want--”

“Go, Ray. Just make sure you come back.”

“Always, homes.” God, that sounded pathetic. << _Slot me into my permanent position in the friend category.  B-fucking-FF’s, except with no fucking.  Forever._ >>

“I know,” Walt said. Ray wished he’d say more, like that he didn’t want Ray to go. Because Ray would skip work if Walt asked.

Ray took a step back. “Ok then. Call the club if you need anything?”

“I’ll be fine,” Walt said. “Maybe tomorrow we can go give out those cookies.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Ray said and slung his bag over his shoulder. “You can use my laptop if you want. It’s on my desk.” He knew he was making up reasons to delay going to work.

“Thanks. I might.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

“This fucking sucks,” Ray mumbled as he went out the door.

****

“I’m back, motherfuckers. Dance to this shit or don’t. I don’t give a fuck,” Ray said and turned the [music](http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL28FCF581C9A15E4E) on a little too loud.

_Do you cry out in your sleep?_   
_All my failings exposed..._   
_Get a taste in my mouth_   
_As desperation takes hold_   
_Why is it something so good_   
_Just can't function no more?_

Brad and Nate shared a concerned look for a second before Nate broke their eyecontact. Brad scowled.

_When love, love will tear us apart again_   
_Love, love will tear us apart again_

****

Doc had dressed Trombley in a skin-tight t-shirt and some black jeans that looked like they were painted on. While Nate danced, he speculated on whether Doc had taken the tropical print monstrosity out back and burned it. Behind the bar, Trombley was dancing as he restocked. His curly hair bounced. Some guys kept reaching out across the bar to try to pinch is ass, which he just shook harder in response. He had that ridiculous, yet kind of compelling, lop-sided smile.

He was actually really good.

Nate made a mental note to talk to Doc and Sixta about him. When Walt came back, Trombley would need another assignment.

****

“Um, Patterson?” Walt said on the phone. “I’m just going to leave Ray’s apartment to walk up. I guess look for me in a couple of minutes, ok?” He was still paranoid.

“You got it, kiddo.”

Walt insisted upon taking the twelve flights of stairs up to Doc and Patterson’s apartment. It’s not like he was going to get better if he kept letting everyone baby him or if he babied himself. He sighed, working himself up to open the door and start up the stairs. He rested his hand on the doorknob. This was the first time that Ray wasn’t here, and this absolutely fucking sucked.

****

There were a lot of shadows in that stairwell, and it hurt to run.

****

First it was Nate. He came up to grab a bottle of water he’d stashed in Ray’s booth.

“Hey, Ray. How’s it going?” Nate’s smile was genuine and Ray felt a frown form on his face.

“Fine.”

“How is Walt?”

“Fine.”

“I was thinking I’d bring lunch over tomorrow so I could say hi to Walt in person.”

“Fine.”

Nate’s eyebrows came down. He looked at Ray until Ray considered telling him off. Instead Nate took another drink of water and went back out to dance.

_Just when everything was making sense._   
_You took away all my self confidence._   
_Now all that I've been hearing must be true._   
_I guess I'm not the only boy for you._

Then it was Doc. He didn’t have any reason to come up here except to give Ray a hard time.

“Before you even start, I’m fine and Walt’s fine.”

“Is that right? I’ll be the judge of that. What is this shit you’re playing?”

“Fuck you.”

“I didn’t dress the guys for emo industrial music, Ray.”

“Come on, man. I gotta work.”

“Fuck that. You need to talk about what is going on in your head.”

“I do not need to do that,” Ray said, looking at his turntables and wishing that Doc would get the fuck out of here.

“Ray.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You’re being a jerk to the crowd. I want you to tell me what’s going on.”

“So you’re my shrink now?”

“Ray.”

“Fuck you. You want to know that I’m in love with a guy who doesn’t love me back? That I can’t ever be what he wants?”

Doc looked at Ray intensely. “You don’t know what the hell you are talking about, like usual.”

“Doc, get the fuck out of my booth.”

“No. I’m not done yet. You need to stick with that boy. He needs you and you motherfucking need him. I don’t want to hear about you wimping the fuck out because it was too hard.”

“It’s not like I’m magically turning into some kind of leather strapped hairy dude overnight, homes. I’m not his type.”

“How about you let him decide what he wants, huh? Don’t be an asshole, Ray.”

****

“Doc!” Kocher called at him as he was heading out for the night. Kocher waved him over to the side of the entry line.

“What’s up?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you. What’s going on with everyone tonight? Ray is acting like someone pissed in his drink and it looks like Brad is about to piss in someone’s drink.”

“Ray is fucked up about Walt. Still. Forever. I don’t know. And fuck if I know what’s up with Colbert. Pretty sure he got laid last night, so who knows what’s got his panties in a twist.”

“Why do you know that?”

“Didn’t you see the pictures in the office?”

“Apparently not.”

Doc snorted. “You should before Brad finds them and burns them. Or Nate does.”

“Ah, I see,” Kocher smiled. “Pictures though? Even if we all knew they were heading that way, they don’t seem like the type to broadcast.”

“Pictures are from Lilley’s photobooth.”

“No shit?” Kocher laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Thanks for the heads up.”

****

“Do you want a soda or some tea?” Patterson ordered Walt to the sofa.

“I could use a beer.”

Patterson looked at him sternly. He was the only one that Walt would let look at him like this. From anyone else it felt like pity.

“I know, I know. No alcohol until I’m off the meds. I haven’t had anything to drink, but I want one.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m getting you some tea. Come in the kitchen. You can help me with the dishes while we wait for the kettle.”

Weirdly, having something to do did help a little. Patterson was kind of awesome that way. He handed Walt another glass to dry.

“Brad said that Halloween is going to be a charity show,” Walt said.

“How do you feel about that?”

“Good, I guess.”

Patterson looked at him until Walt had to say what he was really thinking.

“It’s soon. I’m not sure I’m ready.”

“No one is going to make you participate if you don’t want to, Walt. Your name isn’t going to get mentioned without your say so. Folks are doing this because they care about you. Don’t doubt that.”

“I know.”

“Plus, should be a good time. The charity events always are.” Patterson handed Walt the last cup and drained the water from the sink.

“Last year was a car wash right? That was before I started.”

“Yep. The dancers organized that one. Raised ten grand, if you believe that. Year before that it was a boxing match that Sixta pulled together.”

Walt smiled. “I heard about that. You won, right?”

“In more ways that one,” Patterson said just as Doc walked in the front door and straight to Patterson for a kiss. It went on long enough that Walt reminded them he was still there by clearing his throat.

“Hi, Walt,” Doc said, still looking at Patterson. Walt couldn’t help smiling at the two of them. He wanted what they had. “I needed that,” Doc said to Patterson.

“What’s going on?” Patterson asked, stroking Doc’s back.

“There must be a full moon or something. Everyone is acting like jackasses. Including your boy,” Doc said, turning to Walt. “He was being a complete asshole tonight.”

Walt’s smile evaporated. “I... shit. Sorry.”

“Ray Person is the crown prince of mood swings, so it’s not your fault completely.”

“Gee, thanks,” Walt grumbled.

“I call it like I see it and tonight I see you and Ray being obtuse and Nate and Brad being who knows what the fuck.”

“Funny,” Patterson said, “because Walt was just reminding me of the night of the boxing match.”

* * *

_A little more than two years ago_

Patterson easily made it to the final match of Sixta’s charity boxing tournament. He wasn’t particularly tall or broad, but he could put you on your ass with his right hook by outthinking you at every move. He mowed through his competitors with an intensity that bordered on terrifying.

Doc’s jealousy flashed bright when some twink with a towel congratulated Patterson after his third win. He had been living with Patterson for about 3 weeks and it hadn’t been what Doc would have called a smooth transition. Despite being together for the better part of a year, the technicality of living under the same roof was fucking with both of their heads. Patterson kept wanting to bring boys home. Sure, sharing men was part of their deal on occasion and it was fucking hot. However, can’t a guy just have five minutes of his man’s attention without another cock in the way for fuck’s sake?

Doc was busy at work with Fleet Week coming up. Right now, keeping busy was keeping them from fighting. That was fine with Doc, because fighting felt like it would signal some kind of end. Weirdly, they never fought. Ever. They never had to because they pretty much saw eye-to-eye on stuff. The current silent treatment they were inflicting on each other was making a chasm between them though. It felt like a building migraine in Doc’s head.

All of that added up to an extremely surly Doc during the boxing match. He’d cursed out Lilley for dawdling when he was supposed to be getting his costume on for final fitting. (Lilley was tonight’s ring card boy.) Brad had been in the dressing room at the time and had silently raised a brow at him. Wisely, Brad had kept his mouth shut. Good thing, because Doc would have torn him a new one too.

Doc got a beer and sat down to watch the final bout. It was versus some cocky kid who was semi-pro. The kid was good; he and Patterson were the obvious favorites in the tournament. He was a good 10 years younger than Patterson and moved like he was. The kid also apparently liked to talk smack. Patterson was ignoring it. Doc took another drink of his beer, thinking about how Patterson was getting very good at ignoring things. Obvious things like how asshole-ish it was to want to bring guys into their new bedroom when it had just become _their new bedroom_.

The bell chimed and Patterson and the kid circled each other. Patterson threw out a few slow punches to test the kid; he was fast. No surprises. Patterson took a jolting cross to the temple, but shook it off. Maybe it was only Doc that could see it, but Doc knew Patterson had taken that punch on purpose. Patterson was gauging the kids’ strength and accuracy. The corners of Patterson’s eyes crinkled in the tiniest smirk of superiority. It was his tell, but it was subtle and Doc doubted that the kid noticed.

The bout was like a testosterone-fueled dance. Sweat dripped. Their footwork was mesmerizing. Patterson’s focus was absolutely dead-on. Every punch made the crowd roar.

Doc felt possessiveness and undeniable lust flood his body with every hit that Patterson landed. The heat crawled under his skin until all he could see was the sheen of sweat over Patterson’s flexing muscles. Patterson’s compact power was undeniable, and Doc _had_ to have him. It had been weeks since they’d really fucked and days since Patterson had done more than sleep in the same bed with him. Doc would take a fight with Patterson if that’s how it had to be, but mostly he wanted to fuck his man loud and dirty. Doc wanted... no, _needed_ to claim him. He pounded the rest of his beer and elbowed his way to ringside.

The final bell rang as Doc reached Patterson’s corner. Godfather brought Patterson and the battered kid to the center of the ring and raised Patterson’s gloved hand in victory. The _Matilda’s_ boys mobbed him, all smiles and cheers, but Doc dragged him out of the celebration with an angry look to anyone standing in his way.

Doc hauled Patterson back into the dressing room. They were both angrily silent. He pushed Patterson down on one of the benches and started patching up a cut over Patterson’s eye with a butterfly bandage. He wasn’t gentle.

Patterson hissed when Doc gripped Patterson’s shoulders hard, digging his fingers into the sore muscles.

“What the fuck, Tim?”

Doc grabbed Patterson’s chin hard. “You know how fucking sexy you looked out there? You had that fight in the bag as soon as you took that first punch.”

Patterson stood and threw his intensity into his gaze. It was a challenge. They were going to do this now.

Doc got up in Patterson’s face. “As much as my dick thinks it’s a good idea to be nice to you right now, I think I’d rather tell you that you, Bryan Patterson, are fucking mine. You don’t belong to any of them out there,” Doc said, whipping a finger toward the door.

Q-Tip, Christeson, and Lilley barged into the dressing room at that instant.

“Yo, dude! Congrats!”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Patterson bellowed.

Doc felt his knees go weak with lust as the boys retreated.

“You are fucking mine,” Doc said against Patterson’s neck. He tasted of salt and anger. His lips had the metallic hint of blood.

“And you are mine, Tim. Why have you been so fucking terrible since you moved in?” Patterson wrapped his arms tightly around Doc. It hurt in exactly the way Doc needed.

“How about because you keep trying to bring boys into our new home? What the fuck, Bryan?” Doc scraped his fingernails up Patterson’s back, hoping the marks would last.

Patterson slapped Doc’s ass hard. “If you hadn’t kept hiding from me, I would have told you.” He pushed at Doc’s waistband, desperate to get his pants off. They dug into Doc’s hips without the button undone. “They were supposed to be the same as breaking a bottle of champagne on the hull of a new boat.”

Doc pulled back and stared at Patterson. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He didn’t know whether to laugh or to punch Patterson in the goddamn mouth. “I just wanted a couple days alone with _my_ man’s cock in my ass. Maybe tied to _our_ new bed.” Doc grabbed Patterson’s hand and forced it down the back of his pants. He pressed Patterson’s fingers down the cleft.

“Fuck, Tim. Ask me. I’ll give you anything if you just ask me.” Patterson’s erection was hard against Doc’s groin.

“I want you. All of you. Starting with your fingers in my ass right fucking now.”

Doc flicked the button of his pants open and Patterson shoved them to his ankles.

“You’ve always been such a fucking pushy bottom.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.” Patterson pushed two fingers into Doc’s mouth. “Make them wet.”

Doc groaned. He felt his saliva flow as Patterson fingerfucked across his tongue.

“Good boy,” Patterson growled. He pressed his wet fingers to Doc’s ass.

“Go go go,” Doc chanted under his breath and bore down.

“Slow,” Patterson said softly.

“Fuck slow,” Doc said. He sucked a few of his own fingers wet. Patterson’s eyes widened as Doc’s fingers joined his.

“Shit. Tim--”

Doc’s ass burned with the stretch. He wanted to feel Patterson’s hands all over him. He wanted Patterson’s dick abusing him. He wanted to kiss him until his lungs ached to have another breath. Doc’s back arched.

Doc gasped, “I want you to fuck me. Here. Right now. I don’t fucking care if someone comes in. I want them to see that you’re mine.”

“Is there lube?”

"Bryan! Fuck me, now. Do it. I'm not gonna fucking break!”

Patterson pushed Doc against the bank of lockers and dropped to his knees. He licked deep into Doc’s ass, spitting and fingering while Doc begged him to hurry the fuck up. When he finally fucked into him, Doc cried out.

Patterson murmured into the nape of Doc’s neck. “You’re mine. Ask me for anything. I love you, Tim.”

Every thrust filled that emptiness that Doc had felt for the last couple of weeks. He came hard with Patterson’s hand on his cock and his name on his lips.

Doc took his man out into the bar after that. He showed him off for an hour and then took him home to their apartment. Doc drew the hottest bath he could tolerate.

“Don’t be a pussy. Get in,” he said to Patterson. “It’s not too fucking hot.”

Patterson hissed as he got in, but he didn’t complain. Doc slid in behind him and started kneading his shoulder muscles.

Patterson groaned. “Why did I think that was a good idea? I’m old and my body acts like it’s broken on a good day.”

Doc chuckled. “It was for a good cause. Now let me take care of my old man.” Doc meant both meanings of ‘old man.’

They’d had sex at the apartment during the last three weeks, but after the boxing match was the first night they made love in their new place. They also came to the consensus that no one else could fuck in their bed.

* * *

“A lesson in how not talking through your shit is a recipe for disaster,” Patterson said. Doc kissed his cheek.

Walt took a sip of his tea and considered that.

****

Kocher had Manimal cover the door because, frankly, his curiosity got the better of him. Doc was right about the pictures. There they were, eye height, tacked right on the wall of the office. This had to be Lilley’s doing.

For the most part, the incriminating bits were hidden. Still, there was no doubt who or what was in those pictures. Biblically.

Kocher unpinned the pictures and headed out to the floor. Nate was just coming down for a quick break.

“You should probably put these in your locker,” Kocher yelled over the music.

Nate was already flushed from dancing, but Kocher could have sworn he got more red. Nate’s nostrils flared.

“Where did you get these?”

“They were hanging in the office. Don’t kill him,” Kocher said as Nate pushed his way through the crowd. Lilley was over on the platform by the bar and he didn’t know what was about to hit him. Kocher smirked and went back to the door.

****

“What did Ray do exactly? You know, in the alley,” Walt asked quietly.

Patterson hit pause on the movie. He and Doc stared at Walt, obviously surprised, and then shared a look with each other.

“Listen, Walt, you really should--”

“But I can’t,” Walt whispered, wide-eyed at the thought of broaching the topic with Ray. It felt... too much.

Doc and Patterson shared another look.

“Alright, Puppy, listen to me,” Patterson said, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of Walt’s position on the couch. “Ray saved your life out there, most probably. You need to figure out how to talk to him about it. He deserves to be the one who tells you, and he was the only one there. Kocher wasn’t even there until your attackers were pepper sprayed into submission. It was all Ray.”

Walt blushed. His ears felt hot and sore with emotion to hear even this much. “I...”

Doc sat down on the couch next to Walt and handed him a splash of whiskey. “Drink it.”

Walt did as he was told. Then the other shoe dropped.

“Why don’t you want to talk to Ray?” Doc’s stare was drilling through him. There was no way that Walt was going to escape this and he was scared.

“It’s going to hurt,” Walt said softly.

“What is going to hurt?”

Walt felt the tears in his eyes and looked away from them. He didn’t know if he could deal with the possibility that Ray would cringe away from him. Or that Ray already had given too much and he didn’t have any more.

“Puppy?”

“No. I can’t.” Walt felt that downward spiral taking him again. Maybe Ray would say something about love and Walt wouldn’t be able to...

“What is going to hurt?”

“Please don’t make me say it,” Walt said, his voice cracking.

Patterson sighed. “Look, kid. We are not trying to make you feel worse. Do you believe that?”

Walt looked at him. Patterson’s face was serious and kind. Walt nodded.

“You need to come to the point where you can say to yourself what you are scared of. If you want to tell one of us, Brad, or whomever else after that, that’s terrific. This is part of your recovery, and there is no skipping out on it anymore than you’ll be able to skip out on your physical therapy,” Patterson said. “Talk to Ray, Puppy. We’re here for you whenever you need us.”

“I want to go sleep,” Walt said.

Patterson sighed. “Ok. I’ll walk you downstairs.”

Walt nodded.

****

“Trombley, take over,” Nate said sharply. “You, with me,” he said to Brad. “Right fucking now.”

Brad clearly read Nate’s anger.

“Shit, dude. He looks mad,” Trombley said to Brad. Nate was already rounding the corner into the hallway.

“Thank you, Trombley.”

Nate wasn’t one for overreacting, so Brad immediately followed him into the hallway. Whatever this was, it was unlikely to be melodramatic bullshit.

Nate shoved the picture strips into Brad’s chest.

“Are you fucking kidding me with this? Hung up in the goddamn office? What the absolute fuck, Brad.”

Brad looked down and realized what had happened.

“Not me. Lilley,” Brad growled, stomping out to the floor.

Lilley was smart enough to cower a little bit when Brad stared him down. Nate shook his head and went silently back up to his platform. It looked to Brad that Ray’s pissed off music suited him just fine.

****

The first thing Walt did when he got back to the apartment was scramble to lock the door and close all of the curtains. His heart pounded in his chest like it was trying to jump out and hide.

“Too dark,” he said under his breath. Every corner had too many shadows, too many hiding places. His fingers found the kitchen lightswitch. He ran to the bathroom and Ray’s bedroom. The apartment blazed. His panicked eyes flicked around the rooms, making sure he was alone.

He didn’t want to be alone.

Walt stripped off his shirt and put on one of Ray’s. He wrapped up in the blanket from Ray’s bed. Finally his heartbeat slowed to a manageable rate.

It wasn’t late yet. _Matilda’s_ was still open for hours. Ray wouldn’t be back for hours. That meant Walt had time alone with his thoughts, and every single one of them wrapped back around to Ray Person.

****

_Dearest baby boy:_

_I’m so sorry I ran away. I should be there to help you. We’re coming back in a few days, I promise. I showed Stephen your note and he thought your suggestion was a lovely one. He’s planning to call Brad tomorrow to discuss details so proper advertisements can go out._

_We can discuss anything you want in detail when I return. Until then, know that what you’re feeling is just the kind of thing I went through. Stephen was my rock. We were dancing around each other before I was attacked, but I fell in love with him as I recovered. Truly, I’m still recovering and he’s been there for me ever since that horrible night. What I’m trying to say is be hopeful, Walt. Something beautiful can come out of this dark time. Let your heart heal with your friends’ help._

_See you soon, dearest._

_\-- James_


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adapted from posts at fivesentencesmut ([1](http://fivesentencesmut.tumblr.com/post/13687577106/thommygirl-asked-gk-au-docxpatterson-their-first)) ([2](http://fivesentencesmut.tumblr.com/post/16537787807/thommygirl-asked-gk-au-patterson-and-a-cup-of-gtfo)) ([3](http://fivesentencesmut.tumblr.com/post/14878514851/thommygirl-asked-gk-au-ray-that-time-he-went-up-to))

_About four years ago_

Tim had just been hired by Godfather and this was the New Employee Orientation.

“Up here is the business office,” Patterson said with a hand solidly on Tim’s lower back. Patterson’s thumb hooked into the waistband of Tim’s pants, and Tim could feel the ache in his balls growing with every step they took.

“So why is it that _Matilda’s_ lawyer is giving me the nickel tour?” Tim asked, separating from Patterson — momentarily, he already hoped — and sitting on the edge of the desk. He spread his legs wide and looked at Patterson directly.

Patterson shrugged and gave a knowing half-smile. “Lucky, I suppose.”

Tim wasn’t sure if he was the lucky one or Patterson was. Perhaps they both were about to be.

Patterson quickly closed the distance between them. The subtle scent of musky cologne surrounded Tim when Patterson crowded into his space. His hands were hard on Tim’s upper arms.

“This ok?” Patterson whispered, lips moving against Tim’s neck.

There was absolutely no way that Tim was going to be able to resist the sound of want in Patterson’s voice. “Fuck yes, sir.”

****

About two weeks after Tim started working at _Matilda’s_ and about 1 week, 6 days after they’d started fucking like rabbits, Patterson woke up in a satisfied tangle with Tim.

Tim rolled over and looked at the clock. “Gotta go to work,” he groaned.

He mumbled something about finishing a shitload of costumes before tonight and kissed Patterson on the mouth, intending to get dressed and out the door. Patterson had other ideas, though. He smirked and pushed Tim’s mouth lower, having him kiss a few other choice places. Tim cheekily wiped his full lips with a fingertip and then sucked it clean as he slid out of bed. A little morning delight from the guy that Patterson was quickly realizing was The One was just the way he’d like to start every Saturday.

Patterson settled back into the warm sheets and waited to hear the front door click closed, but…

What…

Ray Person was in his fucking kitchen? What the absolute fuck.

Patterson ran out of his bedroom, shockingly naked and pissed off.

“Thanks, Ray,” Tim said, holding a travel mug. Tim leaned over and gave Patterson one more tongue-filled kiss to go with his to-go cup of coffee.

“Ray!” Patterson growled.

The warning in Patterson’s voice only made Ray smile broadly and say, “Looks like you two are hitting it off then. Cream?”

****

_About six months ago_

Probably they were out picking up some lucky bastard who wouldn’t know what hit him until he woke up tomorrow with a sore ass and a smile plastered across his face for the rest of the goddamn week. All Ray needed to know right now was that Doc and Patterson had the liquor cabinet that beat all other liquor cabinets. It was totally gay with pink underlighting and a mirrored back, but what-the-fuck-ever because it also had that bottle of Johnnie Walker Green Label with Ray’s name on it. He cracked it open and poured a glass, thinking about the one guy he apparently could never have, and tossed it back… then another and another, until it seemed like a really good idea to get out Doc and Patterson’s stash of kinky porn and see if he could get off to it.

Ray woke up the next morning, head pounding and cock still in hand, with Patterson looking down on him.

“Go get laid, Ray.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from "You Keep Me Hanging On" by The Supremes and "I Know What Boys Like" by The Waitresses.

_ Late Wednesday night _

Brad stood in the crowd and seethed at Lilley, who at least had the sense to mouth the word ‘sorry’ at Brad. Had it been anyone else with him in that photobooth, Brad wouldn’t have been pissed off like this, but Nate was obviously furious and it had been directed at Brad. Brad’s eyes flicked to where Nate was already back up on his platform dancing. Maybe Nate wasn’t purposely avoiding Brad’s look, but it fucking felt exactly that way.

Brad pushed through the crowd to the dressing room and slammed the door hard behind him. Trombley and the bar crowd could wait. Brad needed a minute or he would punch something. His insides were like cracking ice, harsh and fragile. Feeling like that made Brad beyond pissed off; pissed at Lilley and especially pissed at himself for thinking he could have something good and uncomplicated. He should have learned that lesson back in New York. He thought he had.

He sat down on one of the benches and massaged his temples, looking down at the two strips of photos clenched in his hand. They looked so fucking good together. Brad ran his thumb across the glossy surface of the picture where Nate’s hand was sliding down the back of Brad’s jeans. His grip was hard and Brad’s flesh was pressed in under Nate’s fingers. The shadow of the feeling tingled on Brad’s skin. In the next picture, Brad’s face was smiling as Nate kissed him. He stared at that one for a long time, and it calmed him down.

He vividly remembered the sensation of Nate beneath him and he wanted it back. Fuck learning a bullshit lesson in cowardice and isolation. He’d spent long enough alone. Brad wanted Nate Fick.

The only thing to do was to take his pen out of his pocket and write a note on the back of one strip of pictures.

_I had an exceptionally good time last night. -- B_

On the other one:

_We should do this again... without surveillance next time. -- B_

He opened Nate’s locker and slid the pictures into his bag. After work, he’d follow up with a direct conversation. If he was actually having feelings, Brad supposed he’d better make himself say them out loud.

****

Just after last call, Nate made his way back to the dressing room through the dissipating crowd. Brad was still busy at the bar when Nate rushed by. He pulled on his street clothes quickly, with the sole goal of getting out of here as fast as possible. If he had to see Brad chat up some other guy... it would suck. A whole fucking lot. He’d stupidly let himself fall for this guy, but he wasn’t going to stick around and rub salt in his own wounds.

Nate did, however, feel guilty about earlier in the hallway. He fished in his bag and tore a page out of his notebook. He wrote quickly.

_Sorry for assuming that you were the one who hung the pictures in the office. That was poor form on my part._

_\-- Nate_

He slid the note into Brad’s locker even as he considered writing more. When Kocher had handed him the pictures earlier, Nate’s stomach had tensed painfully. He’d thought that exactly what he feared was happening: Brad was treating him like some kind of trophy fuck. Maybe that wasn’t true -- Lilley had hung up the pictures -- but Nate couldn’t shake his worry that he might be just another notch on Brad’s bedpost.

Nate grabbed his bag and left through the alley exit with a distracted wave to Rudy and Q-Tip as he went. He probably looked like a coward. Or worse, Brad wouldn’t notice at all.

Back at the apartment, Mike was already asleep, which was fine. Nate didn’t have the energy to get grilled by him about Kocher or about Brad.

He tossed his clothes in the hamper and stood under the shower’s hot water remembering. From the first night they met, they’d slept in the same bed. The closeness and smart flirtation had been so easy. Brad had needed him after Walt’s attack... or at least he’d needed someone. Nate had to admit to himself that he might have simply filled a short-term need; scratched that particular itch for Brad when he happened to need it. Nate had gotten some good sex out of it, so there was that. No, it had been great sex. Really outstanding sex.

Fuck.

He curled his fingers around his half-hard dick and unwisely jerked off to thoughts of Brad in his bed again.

****

Ray was both dreading and anticipating going back to the apartment to see Walt. Ray knew he’d acted like an asshole this morning and that he should probably go in there and apologize. He kinda hated apologizing though. He wasn’t good at it, and it always made him feel like more of an asshole afterwards.

He stomped up the stairs ahead of Brad, both of them deep in their own thoughts. Brad kept crinkling some paper in his hand and it was fucking annoying. Ray bitterly wondered if Doc and Patterson had babied Walt too or if only Ray got accused of that. He almost went back downstairs for a smoke at that point, but he didn’t because mostly he just wanted to see Walt. Even if everything else sucked, Ray needed to know he was ok.

Every light in the apartment was on.

<< _Shit. Every light in the apartment is on. Oh, God. Oh, God. Walt must have been..._ >>

Internally, Ray screamed Walt’s name. He ran to his bedroom door, gripping the jamb tightly when he saw Walt asleep in his bed. He was there and safe. But instead of just dissipating, Ray’s panic took on another flavor entirely when the whole scene started sinking in.

“Is he ok?” Brad asked over Ray’s shoulder.

“Yeah. I guess. But, look,” Ray said, jabbing his finger at the bed and starting to freak out. “Fucking _look_ at him. How am I suppose to even... fuck!” Ray’s voice was somewhere between angry and a whine. Brad just had one of those irritatingly impassive looks on his face. Fucking goddamn unhelpful.

Walt was wrapped up in Ray’s blanket, arms hanging out, head half hooded. He looked like the world’s blondest, cutest, calico quilt burrito. Ray took a step closer to the bed. Walt had his iPod in one hand and Ray’s pimp shades in the other, clasped to his slowly rising and falling chest like a goddamn stuffed bear. Walt looked peaceful, happy even, despite the bright room light showing every one of his fading bruises.

Ray was not peaceful. He was the opposite of fucking peaceful. On the motherfucking contrary, he felt like he was going to barf. This was ripping his soul in half. Having the guy he wanted so hard that it verged on obsession in his bed, looking like he was already Ray’s boyfriend, was too fucking much. It was cruel. All this false hope was like getting kicked in the nuts repeatedly and being too ass-backward stupid to stop coming back for more.

To add to the steaming pile of mixed signals, Walt was wearing Ray’s shirt. Not just **_a_** shirt, but his sorta favorite one that he never wore anymore because its caption was basically about Walt.

HOPELESS ROMANTIC  
Seeks pretty boy with huge cock

Not that Ray had any idea how big Walt’s dick was -- frankly, he was too in love with him to care -- but the other sentiments were true. And there Walt was, in Ray’s bed, wearing that exact shirt. Jesus Fucking H. Christ.

Ray took the last couple of steps over to the bed. He closed his eyes and shook his head a little. Maybe he was the one asleep and this was a dream. Seemed as surreal as a dream. Ray opened his eyes again and sighed roughly. There wasn’t much else to do except accept this.

He gently took Walt’s iPod to put it on the table. One glance at the screen made Ray freeze. Walt had been listening to the playlist Ray made him. That Supremes song was set on repeat, and the tinny sound of Diana Ross was still coming out of the earbuds dangling from Ray’s hand.

_'Cause you don't really love me  
You just keep me hangin' on_

It was the last straw. It was the song that officially broke Ray’s heart. He pulled in a breath and held it as he went back to the doorway. Pressure built up behind Ray’s eyes and his lungs burned. Brad was there, watching.

“I can’t fucking do this, Brad. Look at this,” Ray said, shoving the iPod at Brad and jabbing at the screen. “I made this playlist for him. And he’s in my bed, wearing my shirt. It’s fucking killing me,” he gasped, voice cracking. “How am I supposed to know if he... He can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Ray--” Brad started.

“I need to go,” he whispered. Ray drifted into the bathroom, not even bothering to close the door all the way. The aching prick of threatening tears was in his eyes. His pathetic reflection stared back at him in the mirror until tears blurred it. The best thing he could think to do was to turn on the shower and get in. It didn’t matter that he was fully clothed. He just wanted to melt away.

Under the water like this, his tears almost didn’t exist.

Ray might have stayed like that forever, but then there was the metallic, musical sound of the shower curtain shifting.

“Get the fuck out of here, Brad. I don’t need your--”

The warm, solid pressure of a body pressing against his back made him go rigid and motionless. An arm surrounded him to press a hand on the center of his chest. Ray gasped raggedly.

“Shh. It’s me,” Walt said, turning Ray around. Holy fuck was Ray surprised by this particular turn of events. He gawped at Walt. “Shh,” Walt said again, holding Ray’s face in his hands. He swiped a thumb over Ray’s cheek.

“Walt,” Ray choked. The last thing Ray wanted was Walt’s pity. It would be torture to have Walt be here out of pity or some distorted sense of repayment. Ray’s chest tightened. He wondered if how much of the water on his face was from crying like a little bitch. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s ok. I wanted to... um, talk to you.”

Ray’s gold sunglasses, now with water beading on their lenses, were hooked over the collar of Walt’s (Ray’s favorite) t-shirt. Walt’s socks were soaking wet and sagging around his ankles unevenly. Water was streaming down in rivulets from his hair. He should have looked ridiculous, but all Ray saw was the beautiful man he couldn’t have. Ray tried to turn away so Walt wouldn’t have to see him like this. There was no way it was going to help Walt get better to have Ray break down like a fucking lovesick kid. He just needed to keep his shit together for a little longer and then Walt would be healthy and things would go back to normal.

“Ray, come on. Look at me.” Walt pulled him back around. “Please don’t try to get away now. Seriously. I’m finally figuring this out.”

“You’re finally figuring out what?” Ray asked past the frog in his throat. “That I’m a gigantic asshole? If it’s anything other than that, can we just wait to talk about it tomorrow? Right now isn’t such a good time for me. I might have a slot in my schedule tomorrow for Bad News. You can call my secretary--”

“Ray! If you would shut up for one goddamn minute of your life,” Walt laughed. “It’s not bad news, you asshole. Or, I don’t think it is. Can we just...” Walt looked nervous, but he stepped closer to Ray and put his hands on Ray’s waist. “I... shit, this is hard. Ok, so I like you?”

Ray cut off a noise of surprised pain in his throat. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Don’t fuck with me, Walt. You need to mean that. Don’t say it unless you mean it.” Ray’s words got lost in a stifled sob. He felt like a goddamn, county fair blue ribbon prize-winning asshole.

Walt stood even closer, slipping his good arm around Ray’s back and fiddling with the back waistband of Ray’s jeans. “I think I mean it. I mean, yeah. I mean it. For real.”

Ray felt his eyes prickle again. “Just this week?”

Walt smiled and Ray felt his insides lurch. It might have been the good kind of lurch but Ray was too emotionally flat out to tell.

“No, not only this week. I was thinking about that today actually, and it definitely started before. Way before, but it kind of took me a while to realize it.”

“Most people can tell right away how awesome I am,” Ray laughed through his remaining tears.

“Shut up,” Walt smiled. God, he was so beautiful. “Just because you had it figured out already.”

“I knew since I met you.” Ray blushed in the steamy heat of the shower. Walt was standing so close.

Walt tsked. “Ray. Come on. Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” Ray replied.

“Then how come you didn’t figure it out when I basically threw myself at you in the hallway on Friday?”

Ray’s eyes opened wide. “You are a fucking bastard, Hasser. You know I had to go jerk off after that little performance?” His voice was rough with emotion and humor.

Walt laughed and put his forehead against Ray’s. He whispered, “I’m never gonna be sorry about that.”

“Jesus. Walt, I...” Ray’s hands went to Walt’s hips. He felt his body responding, but he tried to tamp it down. Not yet. Not until Walt said he was ready. Instead Ray dug deep to find the cojones to ask what he really needed to know. “But I’m not...”

Walt raised his eyebrows. “You’re not what?”

Ray fidgeted a little. This was fucking awkward, but he had to know. “At the risk of sounding like the world’s biggest stalker, I have seen your type. I’m not it.”

Walt nodded and Ray’s heart sank. “I’m not going to lie and tell you that I don’t like the daddies. Because I do. But--”

“I don’t know how to do that whole power thing either,” Ray said.

“Ray, stop it. I am trying to figure this out too, so fucking shut up with that shit! I just told you that I’m into you. What else do you want me to say?”

Ray searched Walt’s face for a clue to whether or not Ray was just acting crazy or if this whole thing was going to go to shit when Walt got bored of him because he didn’t have enough hair on his chest or an extra 40 pounds of muscle. But all he saw was Walt smiling... ok, maybe also there was some mild annoyance on his face.

“God, I really am the prize-winning asshole.”

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Sorry about pretending you didn’t exist this morning.”

“I probably deserved that after last night,” Walt said.

“No. Now you stop. The doctor said--”

“Fuck that. It was still a shitty thing for me to do. I just... I mean tonight I was listening to that playlist you made and it was really nice. It was kind of obvious, but it was nice.” Walt smiled and then quickly looked aside, taking a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still... whoa, this is hard to say... I wasn’t sure you’d want me after--”

“Walt,” Ray sighed, shaking his head. “Of course I do. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you either.”

Startled tears squeezed out of Ray’s eyes again. “Sorry, homes. This is kind of a left turn for me. I still think I might be in some sort of unrequited-love-induced fugue.”

“I swear you aren’t. So... how about you kiss me finally,” Walt said quietly, his lips moving against Ray’s cheek.

“I... Are you... for real?”

Walt rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Walt cringed a little when he moved his bad shoulder to put a hand at the back of Ray’s neck and Ray was about to tell him they could go slower if he needed to.

“I don’t need to take it slower, Ray. I can tell you’re thinking that. Don’t baby me.”

“Hey, if I’m about to get some, I’m going to try pretty hard to not cockblock myself. So, just keep telling me how you want to do this,” Ray smiled.

Then Walt kissed him. It was soggy as fuck and it was as close to perfect as Ray could have wanted.

****

The walls were too fucking thin in this goddamn apartment. Brad rolled over and put his pillow over his head.

Nate’s note was smoothed out on Brad’s desk. He felt like he could feel it from across the room. It was prodding at him with the puzzle that was Nate Fick and his fucking mixed signals, all tied with a neat bow of smart and pretty.

Brad pulled his blanket up over his head too.

****

Mostly they giggled. Like, _a lot_ of giggling. A ridiculous amount of giggling for two sopping wet guys who were barely getting to 2nd base. But, it was easy. Ray didn’t push Walt to go faster. Eventually Walt would have to talk to him about that, but for now it was perfect. Ray was pretty much perfect, and Walt had no idea why he had been so slow on the uptake.

If Walt had to put it in words, it wasn’t that men who could dominate him were at the top of his list. It was that he liked men who were possessive. Right now, he was all about Ray dropping light little kisses all over his face, even over the bruises that Walt thought were ugly. It was about how Ray had his fingers wrapped through Walt’s and wouldn’t let him get more than a fraction of an inch away from him. It was how Ray said his name. And it was definitely about how jealous Ray got... Walt had seen it before, how Ray would pout. It was probably fucked up to love that, but Walt did anyway.

The water was cold by the time they got out of the shower. Ray scrubbed at Walt’s wet hair with a towel.

“Cut it out,” Walt laughed when Ray scrubbed the towel over his face. “Come here.” He tugged at Ray’s soaking wet shirt. When Ray stepped closer, Walt pushed his shirt up and helped him take it off. Ray helped Walt with his shirt. They chucked them into the bathtub with a squelch. Walt kicked off his socks too. Then he touched the red line of Ray’s healing scar.

“I didn’t know,” Walt said with his voice full of emotion. “They hurt you.”

Ray’s fingers found Walt’s scar too. They were nearly mirror images of each other. They kissed that way, bare chest to bare chest, for a long time.

Ray kept carding his fingers up into Walt’s hair. Every time he did, he’d tug a little bit. Not hard, but even that gentle pull had Walt kissing Ray more deeply. He kept nervously pulling himself back from the edge of getting really turned on. It hadn’t even been a week. He shouldn’t.

“So, I made you a mixtape too,” Walt said, reluctantly pulling away.

Ray’s arms tightened around him. “You did?” Ray kissed him softly. “You did.” Another kiss. Ray buried his face in Walt’s neck and Walt could feel his smile. “When?”

“Tonight. When I was waiting for you to get back from work.”

“Let me listen to it.” Ray was buzzing with excitement. He tugged on Walt’s hand.

Walt was glad to be back in Ray’s bed. They giggled more because their toes kept bumping and Ray’s feet were fucking cold. Ray threatened to wake Walt up with them later; Walt felt the rush of blood heating his ears when he heard that. They fell asleep to the music that Walt had picked for Ray.

Walt woke up a while later. Couldn’t have been long because their hair was still wet. A dark clump of it had fallen in front of Ray’s eyes, and Walt brushed it aside. He absently wondered what Ray looked like when he was about to come. Did his cheeks flush? Was he loud or quiet? Would he like it when Walt rode him, or maybe when--

Walt sat up. Shit. No, no, no.

He quietly climbed out of bed and paced the floor trying to think about anything other than sex. He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Walt grabbed his phone and went out to the kitchen. It was almost 05:00 in the morning. This couldn’t wait though. He texted Mattis.

  
   _Are you awake? Need advice._  

He paced more. He poured himself a glass of water and chugged it. He folded the kitchen towel and then refolded it.

_I’m up, sweetie. Do you want to call me?_

It barely rang once before Mattis answered. “Are you ok? Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. I mean, yeah. Something happened. I kissed Ray. And he... um, it was mutual.”

“Oh, sweetie! Good for you! That boy loves you, everyone knows.”

Walt blushed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Everyone but me had it figured out.”

“And?”

“And... how soon is too soon for... you know?”

Mattis sighed. “Oh, Walt. Honey, I can’t tell you that. For me, Stephen was there right away. When I look back on it, having him was like a victory over the people who attacked me. It was like saying that they hadn’t broken me.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. He made me feel sexy even when my arm was still in a cast.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“Whenever you’re ready, you’ll know. Ray will be ok if you need to stop. He’s stuck with you this long, sweetie. He’s not going to run away now.”

“Thanks.”

“We should be back on Friday. Stephen is anxious to get back to _Matilda’s_ , despite the lovely job Brad has been doing.”

“I am gonna be really happy to see you,” Walt said.

“Me too.”

The next time Walt woke up, Ray’s fingers tightened around his even though Walt was pretty sure that Ray was still asleep. He smiled.

****

_ Thursday morning _

Brad woke up early and did push-ups until his arms wouldn’t take his weight anymore. Then he cleaned the kitchen. He stripped his bed and ran down to the basement to do a load of sheets. Keeping his hands busy gave him time to think.

Walt slipped out of Ray’s room an hour later as Brad was reading the tech news on his laptop.

“You and Ray finally figured it out?” Brad said, standing to put the tea kettle back on the stove.

Walt beamed and blushed at the same time.

“It was Ray you were talking about on Friday in the dressing room when you were looking dreamy.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Are you serious about this, Walt?” Brad had been trying to redirect Ray’s attention from Walt for a long time. The last week had been intense for everyone, especially Walt and Ray.

“As a heart attack,” Walt said, grinning like a fool.

****

Nate hadn’t emerged from his room yet when Gunny went down to pack the saddlebags on his bike. Gunny brought a chamois and shined his bike up a little. Seemed vain, but he needed something to keep himself busy while he waited for Kocher to show up. If he didn’t, he felt like he’d squirm out of his skin like a goddamn rattler on a rock.

The rumble of Kocher’s Harley sent a twist of nerves through Gunny’s gut before it even came around the corner into the parking lot. Kocher had a bandana over his hair. He pulled off his sunglasses and looked Gunny over. His smile just about knocked Gunny on his ass.

“So, Mountain Man, where are we headed?” Kocher walked closer and squeezed Gunny’s bicep. “Not too far on that bucket of bolts?”

“Hey now. She runs good. Fixed her up myself.”

Kocher nodded approvingly, his lower lip pushed out as he gave Gunny’s bike a closer look. Gunny thought today was going to be pretty darn good.

****

Ray drew a heart in the foam on Walt’s latte. Walt fed Ray some of his pancakes. There was lots of smiling and kissing and humming songs from the mixtapes.

Brad made a face but at least he didn’t say anything Grinch-like while he pouted about Nate.

Ray could admit that this was probably pretty disgusting. They were basically a couple of preteen girls, putting their first names with the last names of the boys they like. Ray also knew he didn’t give a flying fuck if they looked stupid right now. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Finally Brad rolled his eyes and packed in his laptop. “I have laundry. I’d prefer to not come back upstairs to find you two doing something that will damage me for life.”

Ray turned Walt’s chair and framed Walt’s legs with his knees. They kissed slowly. Walt tasted like syrup and coffee.

“Let’s bring those cookies over to that paramedic dude,” Ray suggested. “It’ll be good to get out of the house.”

Walt’s eyes darkened and he pulled back. Ray laced his fingers with Walt’s, rubbing the back of Walt’s hand with his thumb like he had at the hospital. The fear passed. Walt eventually nodded.

“Ok. Let’s do it.” Walt squeezed Ray’s hand, and then reached around and squeezed his butt.

Walt decided they should walk over to the hospital. The sunshine was warm, and Walt stole Ray’s pimp shades again. On their way, they stopped by Walt’s apartment to water his ficus, and got minorly distracted by the privacy... Walt officially has really nice lips, and Ray officially has a permaboner.

Walt held Ray’s hand the whole way over. Most of the cookies made it to their destination, though Walt’s mouth tasting like chocolate was excellent. Ray felt like he was dreaming again.

“Excuse me,” Walt said, after the receptionist had pointed them in the direction of Alex Aubin. “Hi. I’m Walt Hasser and this--”

“Hey! You are the guys from Friday. Wow, you look fantastic, considering! I’m Alex,” he said, holding out his hand to Walt. Walt took it, and Alex sandwiched Walt’s hand between two of his in one of those handshakes that used car salesmen and those rare, actually nice guys use. Ray knew Aubin fit into the latter category.

They talked for a while. Alex ribbed Ray about the whole “he’s not my boyfriend” thing. Walt kissed Ray’s cheek at that part and beamed. They gave Alex the cookies, and no shit that it looked for a second that the guy might cry. Walt hugged Alex with one arm, never dropping Ray’s hand.

“Thanks,” Walt said. Breaking the hug, he asked, “Do you know where we can find Gunny Wynn? We brought some cookies for him too.”

Alex laughed, “For once, he took a day off. I think he’s actually on a date.”

“Oh, shit,” Ray said. “Do you think...?”

Walt and Ray looked at each other and laughed. “Kocher!”

“Is that someone from your work?” Alex asked. Ray and Walt nodded through their laughter. “And they met because of you?”

“I guess so,” Walt smiled.

Ray squeezed Walt’s hand this time. It still would have been a million times better if Walt had never been attacked, but the hook-ups that were happening in its wake were awesome.

****

Gunny and Kocher rode the couple hours down to Sugarloaf Key. Gunny knew this quiet beach out off the north point near the wildlife refuge. No one ever went there.

Gunny pulled a late breakfast of egg and bacon burritos out of his saddlebag and handed one to Kocher. He jammed a thermos of black coffee into the sand between them.

Kocher let his knee come to rest against Gunny’s. “What brought you to Florida from... Texas is it?”

“Good ear. Came for med school. Pretty short story really,” Gunny said with a little smile. “What about you? I’m not so good with accents.”

“Pennsylvania. I joined the Marine Corps right out of high school. After a couple of tours in the desert, the ocean seemed like the only choice.”

“I hear that. I grew up on a ranch out in West Texas. The only water out there was what came out the end of our dicks.”

Kocher laughed a rich, long laugh. Gunny blushed a little and smiled out at the water.

“You’d have made a great Marine,” Kocher said softly, focusing on his burrito. Gunny took that as a compliment.

****

“Hey, guys. Good morning,” Nate said, smiling in a way that made him look criminally young.

“Fuck, you are too goddamn pretty. Why don’t you turn it down a notch,” Doc complained. He was hungover from last night when there had been a scenario involving Patterson and body shots. Doc’s ass was probably still sore; Patterson gave it a little pat.

“Ok. I’ll get on that,” Nate laughed.

“Don’t mind Tim. He is just jealous of Brad,” Patterson said, a glint in his eye.

Nate’s eyes widened and his smile tightened.

“Jealous of either of you, if we’re going to be honest about this. You are both invited over any time. Just putting that out there,” Doc said. “Jesus, someone turn the lights down in here.” He pulled out his sunglasses and put them on even though they were in the dim stairwell.

Patterson slid an arm around Doc’s shoulders while he watched Nate’s guarded expression. “I don’t think it’s Doc’s proposition that’s making you look so uncomfortable.”

Nate looked at Patterson surprised and then huffed a laugh. “No. I can handle Doc.”

“Is that some kind of challenge?” Doc asked. Patterson could tell that Doc was amused, despite his hangover, by Nate’s sharpness. That’s not something often found in someone with his packaging.

“I only look innocent.”

“I bet,” Patterson smiled, very pleased. This guy was perfect for Colbert. Won’t put up with his moody bullshit. “I don’t think you came here to flirt with us in the stairwell though.”

“I brought lunch over for Ray and Walt, actually.”

“God, you are fucking sweet too? Unbelievable,” Doc grumbled. “Colbert is so fucked. You two got your drama from last night sorted out, I’m assuming.”

Nate shook his head minutely.

Patterson noticed and decided to poke at Nate’s sore spot. “So, Tuesday night’s hook-up was it then?”

Nate looked at the ceiling, obviously exasperated. “You guys around here are all gossip hounds.” Nate’s shoulders went back slightly, confrontationally. Nate’s face was shuttered and neutral. “You know Brad’s rule as well as I do.”

“Hm,” Patterson said. “Yes, but even this lawyer knows that rules are made to be broken on occasion. I had that rule too, until Tim came strutting into _Matilda’s_.”

“You know I don’t strut. And, you,” Doc said, pointing at Nate, “need to take your head out of your ass. What is it with everyone around here being so idiotic about men?”

Nate kept his face impassive except for the downward jerk of his eyebrows.

Patterson smiled and shrugged. “He’s abrupt, but he’s right.”

“Let’s leave Nate to his fate. He’s smart enough to figure this out, and I need some fucking coffee and greasy food, stat,” Doc said.

****

“How do you know this place?”

Kocher had taken his shirt off and laid back on the sand. Gunny was distracted by his tattoos. He wondered if the swallows on Kocher’s upper chest implied something... Kocher lifted his sunglasses and smiled knowingly at Gunny.

“Oh. I came fishing down here once and sort of stumbled across it.”

“Good find.”

“Certainly was,” Gunny smiled. He was mostly talking about Kocher being the good find. Kocher’s broad smile seemed to indicate that Gunny was pretty obvious.

“Speaking of finding things, did your roommate tell you about the pictures?”

“What pictures?”

“Shit,” Kocher smiled. “From the photobooth at work. Of him making Brad Colbert into a man, if you catch my drift.”

Gunny laughed. “What’s this now? Brad was at our place yesterday morning when I got home from work. He was the one lookin’ like the cat that ate the canary.”

Kocher turned onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at Gunny. Their hips were touching. Gunny would just have to shift his leg a little bit to make his interest known, but for some reason he kept having fits of shyness around Kocher.

“It must have started at _Matilda’s_ and carried on at your place. I gave the evidence back to Nate. Before that, it was hung up in the office.”

“No shit?” Gunny laughed. “I left this morning before Nate got up, but he has got to be madder than a mosquito in a mannequin factory.”

Kocher snorted. “I think it was Lilley trying to give them a hard time.”

“Shit. That’s a lot of evidence for something that might end up bein’ a one-night stand.”

“What do you mean a one-night stand? Nate’s not into him?”

“You kiddin’? The opposite of that, if anything. But he said Brad only does one-night stands.”

Kocher looked thoughtful for a second. He lower lip poked out again a little, and Gunny definitely was thinking about kissing him.

“All I know is Brad is obviously into him. Everyone at work knows. I think they’ve got their signals crossed if that’s what Nate thinks.”

“You’re shittin’ me. Goddamn, I knew it. I tried to tell him on the phone yesterday that he was jumping to conclusions.”

“Ah, they’ll figure it out. They’re smart,” Kocher said.

“I suppose they will.”

“Speaking of smart, tell me more about why you wanted to become a doctor.” Kocher leaned into Gunny.

“Nah, that’s boring.”

Kocher shrugged. “How about you let me be the judge of that?”

****

Nate stood on the landing, gathering his thoughts on what Doc and Patterson had said. What was the best course of action here? The conservative approach was to protect himself like he was doing. Get out before he was completely fucked and forced to battle the distraction of a crush that wasn’t reciprocated. He had the rest of the semester to get through, and his grades could make or break his chances for grad school. However, if he was wrong and Brad was interested, it would be a huge missed chance. Nate didn’t want to be thinking about how easy it was with Brad. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he was probably already fucked.

Nate paced on the landing. Frankly, he had no fucking idea what to do. Plus, there was a fair chance that in about 10 seconds he was going to be face-to-face with Brad.

Ray opened the door when Nate knocked, not Brad. Nate was unsure if he was relieved or disappointed. Ray, however, was unexpectedly smiling from ear to ear. Nate had prepared himself for more of the “fine” attitude he’d gotten from Ray last night.

“Homes! You came! Good thing, because I’m starving and I expect something good in that hippie man-bag of yours.” Ray was already reaching for the cloth grocery bag that Nate had in his hand. “I bet it’s made from hemp. Shit. It is, isn’t it?” Ray was fishing around inside the bag like it was potentially filled with Halloween candy.

Walt popped up from the couch and joined them at the door. He looped an arm around Ray’s waist, and it was suddenly very clear to Nate what was going on. He smiled. Good for them.

“Let’s go up to the roof deck to eat. It’s super nice out today,” Walt said cheerfully. Nate smiled wider and accepted a quick hug from Walt. Ray kept a jealous eye on them even during that minimal contact.

“You look really good, Walt. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Nate said.

“I have my nurse to thank.” Walt kissed Ray on the cheek. Ray looked like he might float away.

“Dude.”

“I’m happy for you,” Nate said.

Upstairs, Nate unloaded a wide selection of cheese, sausage, salad, and bread. Walt dove in enthusiastically, moaning around a mouthful of prosciutto and baguette obscenely.

“You must think we’re a bunch of fags or something,” Ray said, poking around at the salad in front of him like he’d never seen one before. “Who eats this kind of--”

“Ray, don’t be a jerk. You can’t survive on Marlboros and peanut butter. Just eat it and be nice,” Walt said.

“Hey, I smoke American Spirits,” Ray said, sniffing at some cheese. “Alright, Mr. Fick. I’m willing to eat this for two reasons. One, Walt looks like he’s having a mouth orgasm. And two, I’m trying to make nice so you won’t keep making my roommate into some kind of manic-depressive asshole. He’s a big enough asshole without this additional shit.”

“Just eat,” Nate said. Twice in the last 30 minutes, Nate had been told that he was the one who needed to figure this out. He had the sinking feeling that he’d made a rush to judgment. “I am changing the subject,” he said pointedly. “Other than the obvious fact that you’re up and moving around like a pro, how are you feeling, Walt?”

“Actually, I feel pretty good!”

Walt proceeded to tell Nate all about the cookie outing, including that little tidbit about Gunny and Kocher. It was amusing that Walt and Ray were so excited for Kocher. He’d have to tell Gunny that just to watch him squirm.

Frankly, Ray and Walt were being cute together. They obviously couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Nate couldn’t help smiling, but a pang of regret shot through him when he considered he may have messed things up with Brad by giving him some unwanted distance.

With impeccable timing, Brad showed up. He was wiping a towel over his hair and face, and he had on his running clothes. His sweaty shirt was sticking to his chest, see-through in places -- places such as his nipples. Nate swallowed hard.

“What do we have here? A tea party?” Brad joked. He looked straight at Nate.

“Oh, good,” Ray said loudly. “Alice has finally arrived in Wonderland. I’m the Mad Hatter. This is the March Hare,” Ray said, swinging his arm around Walt’s shoulders. “And, you are quite well acquainted with Dormouse.”

Brad leveled a look at Ray that made Nate smile. Since Walt and Ray were sharing a bench on one side of the table, Brad sat in the space next to Nate. Nate got lost for a minute looking at Brad’s eyes. He was absolutely in over his head on this one.

“You two are so--,” Ray mumbled before Walt jabbed him in the ribs.

“Look! Nate brought us lunch,” Walt said. An overly innocent look spread across his face. “Isn’t that really nice, Brad?”

Nate thought Walt was being a little heavy handed. He didn’t need or want a cheerleader.

“I brought plenty. Help yourself.”

Nate wondered if he imagined the flash of intensity across Brad’s face. Plus, God help him, he was going to have to watch Brad eat now. Nate forced himself to sit still despite the thought of him putting food into his mouth being conflated with Tuesday night’s entryway blowjobs. He watched Brad’s lips.

Nate jerked back to a reality with the sharp snap of Brad biting into a carrot. Brad smirked when Nate blushed down to his neck.

They settled into an hour of ridiculous stories courtesy of Ray Person. Everything from the mutinous fiasco when Sixta tried to implement a dress code to New Year’s Eve a couple of years ago when they had a foam party... or rather a foam orgy. Brad’s knee kept bumping Nate’s, and Nate strongly suspected it wasn’t accidental. Every time it happened, all of the hairs on Nate’s body stood up like Brad was literally magnetic. Nate found himself sliding slightly closer. He reciprocated the knee bump and caught a smile tugging at the corners of Brad’s mouth when he did.

Then Nate’s phone beeped. “Halloween rehearsal,” Nate said, reading the alert. “Starts in 10. I have to go.” He looked at Brad apologetically.

“Aw, come on,” Ray said. “The two of you were just getting back into the swing of eyefucking.”

It was Nate’s turn to give Ray a withering look. Brad smiled.

****

“Have you got everything?” Godfather had a suitcase in each hand and James’ garment bag slung over his shoulder. For once, he hadn’t nagged James about bringing his entire closet along on vacation. He just patiently bore all of James’ baggage, emotional and otherwise.

“I’ve got everything I ever wanted,” James said sentimentally. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“I know how much you love this city.”

“I do,” James smiled. “But mostly I love to be wherever you are.”

Godfather put the bags down and took James in an embrace.

“I love you, too.”

****

Ray stubbed out his cigarette. “You know, Brad, I think I’ve got it figured out.”

“Please illuminate me, Great Sage,” Brad said dryly.

“Nate is obviously overthinking something about you and him. You just need to go fuck him until he’s stupid.”

Walt laughed. Brad rolled his eyes.

“I’m planning on talking to him later, and you should leave this alone,” Brad said. Seeing Nate here laughing with Brad’s best friends like he’d always been one of them had sealed the deal.

****

Nate left Brad, Ray, and Walt picking at the remaining “hippie detritus,” as Ray had affectionately dubbed it. (Ray had eaten more of the food than the other three of them combined.) Nate hopped in his car, pausing to look at himself in the rearview. He took a few deep breaths and gave himself a silent lecture: tonight he was going to talk to Brad about this... and apologize if necessary.

The music was already going when Nate got to _Matilda’s_. Chrissy and T’na were running through their [number](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5UX2afsTqFI). Doc was standing cross-armed on the side of the stage, some kind of neon spandex thing in his hands. Nate wondered what the heck he was going to be expected to wear.

  
_I know what boys like_   
_I got what guys want_   
_I know what boys like_   
_Boys like, boys like me_   


Nate jogged to the back and pulled his rehearsal clothes out of his backpack. His philosophy textbook slid to the floor. Out fell two sets of pictures from the photobooth. Those pictures.

Charging nerves ran up his chest. One of the photostrips was reversed and he read the note from Brad. He flipped the other one over and read that too.

“Well, fuck,” Nate said to the empty room.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "Need You Tonight" by INXS (Serge Devant vs. Filo & Peri Remix).  

_Thursday, early evening_

Doc looked a little more alive and a lot less hungover when he showed up at _Matilda’s_ halfway through dance rehearsal. Nate decided discretion was the better part of valor and kept that assessment to himself when he jogged over.

“Coming to take me up on my offer of a good time?” Doc’s moustache twitched.

“Hm,” Nate chuckled. He considered giving Doc a once-over just to rib him. “Another time, perhaps.”

Sixta was sitting at the bar, plainly ogling the dancers, and Nate waved him over.

“I think we have a diamond in the rough, gentlemen,” Nate said.

“Ain’t gots time for no guessing games. Spit it out, boy,” Sixta said without looking at Nate. Nate traced Sixta’s eyeline over to where Rudy was practicing a move that put his ankle near his ear.

“James Trombley,” Nate said, glancing behind the bar where Trombley was swinging his hips to Chrissy’s song as he restocked the glasses. (Brad hadn’t shown up yet, and Nate tried to keep himself from checking the door every ten seconds.)

Doc’s eyes widened and then narrowed. Sixta dragged his eyes to Nate’s face; his mouth was vaguely slack.

“For what exactly?” Doc asked incredulously.

“I think he could have the chops to be a dancer after the bar staffing gets back to normal.”

Sixta suddenly smiled smugly. Now his eyes were trained on Trombley’s ass.

“You talked to him about this?” Doc asked. He looked over at James plainly unconvinced.

Nate shrugged and shook his head. “That’s not my place.”

“But your keen eye noticed him while you were eyefucking our bartender,” Doc said dryly.

Nate quirked an eyebrow. He smirked as he backed away toward dance rehearsal.

Sixta’s smile became toothy as he watched James wiggle his way down the bar to the rhythm of the music.

****

Brad rolled into work a little on the late side due to Walt and Ray pumping him for information about Nate. The street went both ways on that; Brad had felt them out for what had happened over lunch before he’d gotten there.

Nate smiled at him like he’d been waiting for Brad to show up. That was a good sign. Brad grinned in return.

“Your boy gots an eye for the talent,” Sixta drawled. Brad watched Sixta ogle Nate and felt strangely territorial. “How’d you feel like hirin’ another barback?”

“Trombley’s fine.”

“That he is,” Sixta said, watching Trombley come in from the back with four bottles of booze. Trombley did a little shimmy as he stocked them under the bar.

“So?” Brad could only take so much of Sixta.

“So, your boy Fick suggested that we makes him a dancer.”

“What?” Trombley stood up, surprised.

Brad looked over Sixta’s squat head to Nate, who was watching the three of them with interest. Nate nodded to Brad. Brad’s eyebrows came up. Nate nodded again and smiled. Brad shrugged and turned to Trombley.

“Are you interested in being a go-go instead of working behind the bar?”

“Um...”

“Boy, I told you I gots an eye for talent, even if you don’t know it yerself.”

Trombley paled. “Just... for, like... do I gotta do anything to get that job?”

Brad rolled his eyes. “You have to say ‘yes,’ and you have to audition.”

“That’s it though?”

“Y’ain’t gots to fuck me,” Sixta laughed. Brad thought he sounded strangely affectionate. That was new. And fairly fucked up.

Trombley’s smile slowly blossomed on his face. “Ok. I mean, fuck yes, sir!”

This whole thing was bizarre. Brad didn’t ask. He nodded at Nate again who smiled broadly and got back to Halloween rehearsal. The unselfconscious sexuality that Nate injected into his movements was decidedly distracting, especially when he kept looking over at Brad like he had something more to say.

****

Walt slid comfortably into Ray’s space. They might as well have been doing this forever.

It was stupid how much Walt liked being around Ray. Like, he didn’t even care that Ray smelled vaguely of cigarettes. Or that he was an absolute slob when he ate. In fact, Walt kind of loved knowing those bizarre little things. He just wanted them to get to the point where he could run his tongue across Ray’s adam’s apple and inhale him. He wanted Ray to push him into the mattress and jerk off on his chest... or maybe on his lips so he could taste him. So he could lick every last drop of Ray’s come off the head of his still-throbbing dick.

Walt shivered.

“You ok?” Ray threaded some fingers through Walt’s belt loops and kissed him. Walt thought Ray still tasted like Nate’s hippie food and he smiled.

“Yeah,” Walt smiled. He traced the line of Ray’s waistband with his fingers. “I’m _so_ good.”

Ray smiled back. “Seriously, though. What?”

“I just wish you didn’t have to go to work tonight,” Walt said, nuzzling into Ray’s neck. He dragged his lips across Ray’s skin. He really wanted more.

“Yeah,” Ray agreed softly.

Walt looked up. Ray was staring at him like he had more to say. Ray smoothed Walt’s eyebrows with his thumbs. The cut there was almost healed.

“What? Ray Person always has more to say, so spit it out,” Walt grinned as he echoed Ray’s words back at him.

Ray sighed. “I am trying to figure out how to ask you if you’re going to come back to work, but I don’t know how to do it without sounding like an asshole.”

Walt was feeling good, so... “Soon probably.”

Ray nodded.

“For sure for Halloween,” Walt said.

“I like it when you’re there,” Ray whispered. He smiled and kissed the corners of Walt’s mouth, eyes, neck, the tip of his nose. “This is what we should have been hiding behind your cowboy hat in the hallway.”

By the time Ray jammed his laptop in his bag and ran out the door, already late, Walt had a raging hard on.

****

Trombley felt like he’d won the lottery. Sixta, Doc, and Brad gave him a thumbs up during his quick audition, and now he was going to be a real dancer as soon as Walt got back. Nobody was making him do it. He wasn’t gonna have to sleep with his boss. He didn’t have to strip. And he already knew that _Matilda’s_ guys got as much dick as they wanted. This was fucking sweet!

Trombley felt like he finally was fitting in somewhere.

Doc went double-time up to the business office and Trombley followed at his heels.

“Strip to your underwear. I need to measure you.”

Trombley looked around the office while Doc did his thing.

“Hey, is that Godfather?” Trombley pointed at a picture hanging on the wall behind the desk. Looked to be from the early ‘80s.

Doc looked back over his shoulder. “Yep. I think that was when Godfather stopped modeling and started managing clubs.”

“Godfather used to model?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Huh. Who’s the other guy with him? He’s kinda hot.”

Doc snorted and looked up at Trombley from where he was measuring his inseam. “You serious? That’s Sixta.”

****

Dance rehearsal went until 5 minutes before doors. The _Matilda’s_ dancers bumped around each other in the dressing room as they hurried to change into Doc’s costumes du jour. Tonight they were all in black with knee-high gym socks under their boots.

Brad leaned in the doorway like he owned the place and shamelessly watched Nate adjust his briefs over his ass. Nate tied his boots and looked right back at him. The low neck of Brad’s shirt let Nate see the line of his clavicles. He’d traced them with his fingers when he’d had Brad in his bed.

Finding the photobooth pictures in his book earlier lit a fire under Nate’s ass. He’d been using school as an excuse.  He knew he'd been trying to ignore what was going on. As a consequence, he’d acted like a complete jerk. Now, he absolutely needed to make this right. Ignoring the signs that Brad had been putting out had been stupid. Assuming Brad was shallow enough to breach their trust by flaunting the photos was much, much worse. This required an apology and, Nate hoped, some more sex.

He walked over and flattened Brad against the wall with a hand to the front of his shoulder. The other dancers went out to the club floor, so Nate pressed his body close. Lilley whistled.

“Let’s talk after work,” Nate said quietly. Their lips were almost touching as he spoke, and he looked straight into Brad’s eyes. He needed Brad to hear what he was saying, and he wanted to read Brad’s response in his eyes. “I just found the pictures inside one of my books. I didn’t know, Brad.”

Brad’s exhale was warm across Nate’s lips.

Nate pressed Brad harder against the wall and mouthed along his neck. He’d been so tempted to do this at lunch. Brad always gave this little reaction when Nate flicked his tongue over his earlobe...

Brad’s sharp inhale sealed the deal. Nate smiled.

“Meet me after work. Let me make it up to you,” Nate said quietly. Before he got an erection impossible to hide in lycra shorts, Nate left Brad there groaning.

“Tease,” Brad called after him. Nate could hear the smile in Brad’s voice. He shifted the waistband of his shorts a little low for a moment, since he was such a tease.

****

“Alright, fuckers. So, everyone pretty much knows I DJ my feelings,” Ray said to the crowd. They interrupted him with a mixture of cheering and howls of laughter. “Shut it,” Ray smiled. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Dance to this [happy shit](http://youtu.be/_rSXzvFzCKc).”

Ray dropped the needle with a ridiculous grin. He pushed the heel of his hand down hard across his dick. Finally he could move around comfortably. The whole way over here he walked bow-legged because of Walt. Fuck, Ray really wanted to fuck him.

****

Things were settling in at _Matilda’s_ again. Manimal was good on the door; Kocher didn’t have to keep that close an eye on him to be confident he was doing his job right. (Good riddance, Schwetje.) Prep for the Halloween party was well underway. Brad had given him a rough idea of what to expect so Kocher could hire some temps and valets.

Now Kocher was, clipboard in hand, doing a walkdown of _Matilda’s_ floor. He managed to keep an eye on the night’s operations, but his mind was far away. It was on a beach on Sugarloaf Key to be exact. Kocher had been a few minutes late to work because he and Gunny had lost track of time just talking about life. Kocher was never, ever late to work so he was wondering exactly how fucked he was over this guy.

Doc walked over. “You’re a little pink around the edges today. Taking up sunbathing?”

“You’re such a fucking comedian. I was down in the Keys this morning.”

“Fishing?”

“No.”

Kocher was never particularly wordy, but his curt answer had Doc’s eyebrows rising with curiosity.

“Well, now. That tone means you don’t want me to know. Which means I’m going to guess it involves your romance with Gunny.”

“You and Patterson think you know everything.” Kocher rolled his eyes and walked away. He hated being so obvious. That’s why he waited until he was out of Doc’s eyeshot before he checked his phone again... just to see if maybe.

****

Nate had no intention of taking his eyes off Brad tonight. Call it evidence-gathering. He was going to know exactly how many men Brad flirted with at the bar. Yes, that was Brad’s job, just like dancing was Nate’s; they weren’t getting paid to seduce each other, they were here to seduce the crowd. Still, he felt territorial and, as much as he wanted to shake his worries about Brad’s one-night-stand reputation, the pangs of jealousy kept coming. Nate’s internal war over prioritizing school, work, and romance wasn’t going to get resolved any time soon, but at least he’d come to terms with the idea of pursuing Brad. He would figure out how to make it all work together somehow.

As it happened, Brad was busy watching Nate dance and throwing little smirks of appreciation Nate’s way. Nate smiled back, but the combination of relief at Brad’s attention and the lust it created served to make the minutes crawl by. Closing time couldn’t get here fast enough. Nate had a mission and he wanted to get to it.

“Glad to see you’ve remembered how to make my roommate come in his shorts from all the way across the club,” Ray said. He handed Nate a bottle of water.

Nate raised his eyebrows. “I figured out some things this afternoon.”

“Like that you were being an asshole?”

“Ha! Yes, actually. Thank you for saying it directly to my face, Ray.”

“Welcome to Assholes Anonymous, homes. This is our clubhouse,” Ray said, gesturing around his DJ booth. “No girls allowed.”

Nate glanced down at Brad. “I am going to apologize after work.”

“I bet you ‘apologize’ good,” Ray said dryly. “Just don’t let Brad pussy out on you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that he hasn’t shown this much interest in someone since... possibly never. And he smiles too fucking much when you’re around. Makes him look like a goddamn jack-o-lantern. It’s a freakshow.”

Nate laughed. “Nice, Ray.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t be an asshole and I’ll learn to enjoy seeing his inhumanly white teeth.”

“It’s a deal. In fact, why don’t I go seduce your roommate right now.”

“Good idea, dude. I have just the [song](http://youtu.be/OE_2PTwTpGU) for that.”

****

Ray’s phone beeped.

_Ray:_

_James indicated that you could use some advice in light of your new relationship with Walt. I’ll keep this brief._

_(1) He is going to need you for a long time. Dig in, because there will be storms of euphoria and depression._   
_(2) Talk to him about everything (which won’t be a problem for you), and listen to him. Listen between the lines. Refer back to point (1)._

_\-- Godfather_

Ray queued up Nate’s song and texted Walt a kissy face.

****

Walt took a long, cold shower to calm himself down after Ray went to work. It sort-of-not-really worked. Afterward, Walt found Ray’s _YOU HAD ME AT BLOWJOB_ t-shirt hanging from the hook on the bathroom door. It smelled like Ray. Walt didn’t think twice before putting it on, but the sharp twinge in his shoulder had him grabbing for his prescription and wishing for a beer.

He flopped face-down on the bed. Pretty soon, like maybe tomorrow, he was going to have to go back to his apartment. Probably he should try being there by himself, but the idea of sleeping in his bed without Ray was hugely unappealing. Maybe Ray was his crutch.  Still, he wasn’t planning on getting rid of him when he was better. The opposite, if anything.

The smell of Ray all over the covers made Walt’s dick take notice. He rocked his hips slowly along the bed and couldn’t hold back his groan. This was getting him nowhere except to a hard-on that he’d rather share with his boyfriend.

His boyfriend.

Walt smiled into the quilt. “Boyfriend,” Walt whispered. Shit. Ray Person was his boyfriend.

He looked at the clock. It was still hours before Ray would be home. Walt groaned with frustration and swung his hips one more time, as much out of annoyance as lust.

His phone flashed on the bedside table.

****

Brad glanced up when Nate bounced off his platform up to Ray’s booth for a break. Nate’s fingers slipped under the leg elastic of his briefs again, readjusting them over that tanline. He looked back over his shoulder and winked at Brad. That fucker knew exactly how to push Brad’s buttons. He was pushing buttons Brad didn’t even know he had.

Today -- lunch, in particular -- pushed the reset button on whatever the hell this thing was with Nate. That little scene in the hallway before work made all of the pieces fall into place. The end of the night could not get here fast enough.

Brad served up some beers to a couple of guys who looked like they had their wedding rings stashed in their wallets for the night and then shook his head at himself. He couldn’t stop smiling; it was fucking ridiculous. He did, however, get a nice tip from the married guys who seemed to think Brad’s smile was for them.

“Hey.” Nate was slipping past Trombley behind the bar. His eyes were flashing with excitement, and his walk had the little hip-swinging swagger Brad had come to associate with Nate at _Matilda’s_. But Brad had seen behind that performance to the smart, kind, driven man underneath.

Brad turned his smile to its rightful recipient. “You can’t stay away. I know.” Brad’s swagger was in full effect too.

“ _That_ is the truth,” Nate said, pressing against Brad. “And we are going to talk about it later.” He traced the waistband of Brad’s pants with the lightest touch of his fingers. Brad wanted to sink into Nate’s embrace and let everyone else here just disappear. “Right now, however, you’re going to give me a boost. Onto the bar.”

Brad stiffened. Goddamn Nate Fick and his cocksucking lips. The fucking thought of Nate on his fucking bar. Brad cleared his throat. “You are going to dance on my bar?”

“I could get Trombley to give me a boost instead.” Nate looked over Brad’s shoulder.

Brad’s hands squeezed Nate’s hips possessively. “Not necessary.” Fucking button pusher.

The boosting procedure put Nate’s groin practically in Brad’s face. He smirked up at Nate, and Nate quirked his eyebrow suggestively, mouthing the word “later.” Brad fucking hoped so.

Although Brad didn’t look to confirm, he was certain Ray was up there giggling at them. This song was so obvious.

  
_So slide over here_   
_And give me a moment_   
_Your moves are so raw_   
_I've got to let you know_   
_You're one of my kind_   


A huge cheer went up when Nate stood on the bar. He ran a finger from each hand along the leg elastic of his briefs. Brad bit the inside of his cheek as the smooth material slid from the cleft of Nate’s absolutely fuckable ass to lay more smoothly. Brad closed his hand around Nate’s gym sock-covered calf. Nate looked down with his green eyes twinkling and his pink lips shining, and Brad knew this was a show for him. He gave a brisk nod.

  
_I need you tonight_   
_Cause I'm not sleeping_   
_There's something about you_   
_That makes me sweat_   


Brad fanned out a half a dozen napkins onto the bar and had a row of Cap n’ Cokes prepped in a matter of seconds. Nate stepped over them and walked along the bar like he was shopping for tonight’s date from the crowd. He dipped a couple of times to run a long finger along some lucky fucker’s cheek while Brad watched. Brad’s possessiveness pinged. Fortunately it was only a show. Still, he was relieved when Nate took up a spot at corner of the bar and danced to Ray’s music. That meant Brad could stroke his hand along Nate’s ankle every time he made his way down to the customers on that end of the bar. And every time the crowd got to see Nate’s ass, Brad got to see his green eyes.

Nate leaned over and Brad popped a cherry into his mouth. The tip of Nate’s tongue caressed it as he held it between his teeth. Brad bit the inside of his cheek again.  Too much smiling was going to make people nervous.  Hell, it should have been making him nervous too.  He readjusted himself when Nate glanced down at him.

****

Gunny felt stupidly nervous and he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He smoothed the front of his shirt and then jammed his hands in his pockets. Nate was shaking his ass up on the bar -- Jesus Christ almighty. Gunny looked away. God, he felt old in here.

Then he saw Kocher standing near a roped off area; probably the VIP room. Gunny felt kind of like a desperate schlub considering that it’d only been about six hours since he and Kocher got back from the Keys and here he was sniffing around for more like a barn cat. Gunny’d spent the last few hours trying to decide if what he was doing right now was a good idea.

It was those goddamn dimples.

The smile that spread across Kocher’s face when he saw Gunny push through the last of the crowd made Gunny’s face burn.

“You came,” Kocher said happily in Gunny’s ear, his hand on Gunny’s arm.

Gunny didn’t know what to say exactly. He blurted, “Today was good.”

Kocher smiled, looking Gunny’s face over. The attention made Gunny give a half-smile and look away awkwardly for a second.

“What?” Kocher asked. His hand was still on Gunny’s arm and he gave a squeeze.

“Listen, I’m not exactly good at this pick-up shit.”

Kocher laughed. “Club closes in 30 minutes. Have Poke get you a beer and wait for me.”

His hand stroked down to Gunny’s wrist and over Gunny’s fingers, and fuck if Gunny didn’t feel that all the way to his balls.

****

Ray looked at his watch. Fucking _finally_ it was a few minutes before close. Last call had been at least four days ago by Ray’s estimation. He’d been exchanging little texts with Walt all night, and he was feeling antsy to get out of here. Now that Walt was letting Ray get a little bit -- at least to first base -- he couldn’t get enough. He felt like an addict all over again, but in a good way this time.

Suddenly the house lights went up. Ray checked his watch again to make sure he’d read it right. This was at least ten minutes earlier than usual.

He leaned over the edge of his booth and looked toward the back of the house. Kocher was standing there by the light switches with his hands all the fuck over Gunny. Ray smiled. That definitely explained that.

At the front of the house, Brad was lifting Nate down from the bar in a particularly unprofessional way. Out on the floor, Christeson had pulled Q-Tip down from his go-go platform and they were dancing in a way that didn’t leave anything to the imagination. Pappy was waiting for Rudy in the hallway to the dressing room. Doc and Patterson had just left with another couple. It was looking like a particularly good night.

_can’t wait til ur back_

Walt had texted Ray a picture of himself wearing Ray’s shirt in Ray’s bed. (God, why did he love to see Walt in his clothes so damn much?) Ray decided he didn’t give a flying fuck about the usual after work music track tonight. He jammed everything he could lay his hands on back into his bag and took the stairs down two at a time.

****

Nate sat on one of the barstools and watched Brad finish his close-out. Frankly, Brad was giddy. He tried to play it as cool as possible and finished the back counter wipe-down. He didn’t have to turn around to remember the angles of Nate’s face or the sweep of his shoulders. Those were the places Brad had covered with slow kisses after he’d fucked Nate two nights ago; when he’d come so hard his ears rang. He still remembered the clench of Nate’s ass around his cock.

When Brad finally did turn around, Nate extended his hand across the bar palm up. Brad rested his hand in Nate’s.

“Listen, Brad, it probably seems like I’m running hot and cold with you. I will understand if you are pissed off that I--”

“I’m not pissed.”

“Are you going to let me do this confession or what?”

Despite Nate’s sharp tone -- or maybe because of it -- Brad felt the corners of his mouth turning up into a smile. Nate’s take-no-crap style was exactly like Brad’s. He stroked his fingers along Nate’s wrist and gestured for him to continue.

“All of the reports I got in advance from people around here said you only did one-night stands. A new guy’s situational awareness doesn’t extend very far, so I was working under that assumption yesterday when Kocher handed me those pictures and said they had been hanging in the office. I made the faulty assumption that you put them there; that I was a trophy fuck. I am sorry for assuming that.”

Nate paused. He scratched his fingernails lightly across Brad’s palm. It sent a jolt of pleasure up Brad’s arm. (He definitely did not know about that button.)

“I got this job to pay for school, and school is hugely important to me. Hooking up with you was a big risk in that regard since you’re effectively my boss here. But I don’t want this to be a one-night thing, Brad.”

Brad stroked his fingers along the inside of Nate’s forearm and down to the tips of Nate’s fingers. Nate was watching the motion of Brad’s hand. He shifted his fingers and Brad’s laced with his. Nate’s eyes came back to Brad’s face.

“First of all, your situational awareness is spot on. You are indeed a trophy fuck. You just happen to be one that I’m interested in keeping around for longer than one night,” Brad said. He paused for a brief moment, and then dove in with both feet. “Possibly a lot longer. Because you are a lot more than a nice ass. Second, I don’t blame you for any of that. Self-preservation almost sent me running the other way too.”

“And now?”

“Now I am saying that I’m not baggage-free.”

“Who is?” Nate replied philosophically. “Let’s finish this conversation elsewhere. Looks like my roommate is about to deflower your bouncer, though, so...” Nate thumbed over his shoulder to where Gunny had Kocher pressed into the shadows along the back wall.

“My place it is,” Brad smiled, tugging Nate off the barstool and into his arms.

****

Tim was holding his breath. A blush was rising high on his cheekbones. Patterson ran his thumb along Tim’s lips and filed that away for later discussion of breathplay.

Tonight, Tim was being perfectly obedient: maintaining eye contact, keeping his hands at his sides even when Patterson knew he’d rather grab on and fuck hard. Patterson pressed the man’s mouth deeper around Tim’s dick. The motion freed Tim’s groan; Patterson drank it in with a smile. Tim’s eyes always took on this glassy look when he was getting close. His eyelids fluttered as he strained to keep them open and trained on Patterson.

“Good,” Patterson praised him with a whisper against his lips. He kissed Tim with deep tongue, still guiding the man onto Tim’s dick with one hand.

Their other guest -- the first’s twinky boyfriend -- was trying to watch too. Patterson’s dick was not getting the attention it deserved.

“No you don’t,” Patterson chided, looking down. He shifted his hips off the limo seat and fucked into the man’s throat. “Suck me off properly, boy.”

“Fuck, that is so hot,” Tim whined quietly.

Patterson let Tim slip his gaze down to watch the man sucking Patterson’s cock. He couldn’t blame Tim really, since he loved watching Tim getting his dick sucked too. Their guests were jerking each other off while they enthusiastically put their mouths to work. They both moaned while they sucked, and the humming vibrations mingled with those of the car.

Tim gasped.

The sight of Tim getting off from someone else’s touch, someone that Patterson was guiding to touch him in just the right way, had Bryan panting. Patterson laced his fingers with Tim’s and they watched each other come.

****

Walt stirred when the bed shifted and Ray put a hand softly on his hip.

“Hey,” Walt said sleepily. He smiled slowly at Ray through the haze of the pills he’d taken earlier for his shoulder. Then he realized what had happened. “Oh, shit. I totally fell asleep. Goddamn it. Sorry. My shoulder was hurting and those fucking pills--”

“Shh. It’s fine,” Ray said.

Walt had wanted tonight to go way differently. He knew he was ready, but then his shoulder had to fuck things up. Goddamn all of this shit.  He snuggled into Ray’s chest and felt the warmth of him breathing.

“How come you’re so fucking perfect?”

Ray snorted. “Those drugs really did fuck you up.”

****

Nate fisted his hands in Brad’s t-shirt and shut the front door to Brad’s apartment with his foot. He was having trouble looking anywhere except at Brad’s lips. Nate could already imagine the feel of that day’s worth of blond stubble rasping against his tongue.

“I’m sorry for making assumptions about you,” Nate said, walking Brad backward across the living room.

Brad stopped them in front of the couch. “Nate, you need to stop apologizing.” Brad’s lips moved along Nate’s cheek when he spoke like he was telling Nate a secret.

Nate shook his head. “Nope. Ray inducted me into his Asshole Club. I was an asshole,” he smiled.

Brad snorted. “If you are in that club, then we all must be in it.” He disentangled Nate’s hands from his shirt and linked their fingers at their sides.

“Pretty good company if you and the rest of the guys are in,” Nate shrugged. There was a (very small) part of him that would be willing to spend the rest of the night learning each fleck of color in Brad’s eyes instead of warming Brad’s mattress.

Brad’s eyebrows suddenly showed a hint of tension.

“Fuck, Nate. You waltz into _Matilda’s_ and fit in like you’ve always been here. How am I supposed to...”

Brad cupped his hands around the base of Nate’s neck. His fingers slipped into the hair at his nape as he pulled Nate into a kiss. Brad’s tongue pushed past Nate’s lips with no prelude. Nate returned all of it gratefully, since he really had been a complete ass. One hand gripped Brad’s wrist and the other snaked under Brad’s shirt to rest in the curve above his ass.

Brad’s lips were shiny when he finally pulled back for a breath. Pink tinged his cheekbones and the words just started spilling out of him.

“You’re the first person that has spent more than one night in my bed for a long time. Maybe I was biding time or being a fucking coward. Just...” Brad trailed off. His expression started closing off.

Nate replayed Ray’s advice in his head and fisted his hands in Brad’s shirt again, this time even harder and jerking Brad’s eyes back to his. “No you don’t. Don’t start saying something like that and then pull up short, Brad. It’ll make a guy nervous.”

Brad sighed and rested his forehead against Nate’s. “It’s not a secret. New York went sour for me.  There was a bad breakup.  I tried to make it work, sticking around, pretending that it wasn't fucked up that I still saw them around."  He took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips.  "Godfather gave me the chance to move down here.  It made sense.  And it made sense to... be alone.”

Nate pulled back far enough to look in Brad’s eyes. “So, you telling me this is supposed to clue me in that you’re willing to try again? With me?”

“Yes.”

“This is fast.”

“Yes.”

“But I want it.” Blood pounded through Nate’s ears.

The tension melted off of Brad’s face. “Me too.”

“In full disclosure, I haven’t dated anyone for quite a while. More than a year. I had a long-term thing and, when it didn’t work out, I had school.”

“Ok, then.”

“Ok, then. Let’s see where this goes.”

“I suggest into my bedroom,” Brad smirked.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Nate replied. He dropped his backpack on the couch and started shoving Brad’s t-shirt up his chest. “Are they here?”

“Yeah. Fuck ‘em.”

“I thought you said next time we’d go some place without surveillance,” Nate smiled. He ditched Brad’s shirt on the couch. Nate bent to lay a kiss on Brad’s pec.

“I must like to show off my shiny, new trophy.” Brad tugged Nate’s shirt off.

“For that, I won’t be going easy on you tonight,” Nate whispered. He looked at Brad through his eyelashes while he worked Brad’s belt open. “We can’t have you forgetting who is in charge here, Brad.”

An amusing combination of a moan and a chuckle escaped Brad. “You are so fucking dangerous.” And then something soft and serious, “I missed you.”

“It was only a few nights,” Nate said quietly. He smiled against Brad’s lips, because if he wasn’t already halfway to being head over heels, that definitely did it.

Brad shrugged. “Still.”

“I’d better apologize properly then,” Nate said. He pushed Brad the rest of the way into his bedroom and down onto the bed. He knelt over Brad’s hips.

“Yeah, maybe you should,” Brad teased.

Brad’s eyes flashed with want when Nate bit the corner of his lip and started sliding to the foot of the bed. He pulled Brad’s pants off by the ankles.

“I’ll get right on that,” Nate breathed against the thin fabric of Brad’s underwear. It was all that separated the flat of his tongue from sliding across the head of Brad’s dick. Brad’s face tensed with pleasure as Nate mouthed at him through the cloth.

Brad’s breath came faster as he watched Nate watch him. Nate slid a hand under his ass and squeezed as he worked Brad’s cock, soaking Brad’s briefs with saliva. It was barely a minute before Brad shoved his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and impatiently slid them down his thighs.

“Better,” Brad said.

Nate chuckled. “Much.”

Brad groaned deep and full when Nate slowly swallowed him. The look of absolute abandon on Brad’s face was exhilarating. Euphoric with lust and the potential of this new thing with Brad, Nate hummed. He couldn’t help it really. Brad was naked underneath him, abs tight and cock hard against his tongue. The sound of Nate’s name tumbling from Brad’s lips was perfect.

Nate crawled up Brad’s body and wrapped him in a strong hold, suddenly dancing on the edge of being overwhelmed. This was all happening so fast.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Brad whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere either.” Nate slipped his thigh between Brad’s and pressed up against Brad’s balls. “Especially not when you let me do this.”

That was it, wasn’t it? Brad was letting Nate in. Nate kissed him long and slow, pulsing his thigh and drinking in Brad’s tiny huffs of pleasure. Their eyes were open, and Brad’s crinkled at the corners.

“I’m definitely going to let you do that. I’m also open to other creative ideas.”

“Is that right?” Nate sat back between Brad’s knees. He looked from Brad’s eyes to his groin and back again. Brad’s eyebrow went up. Gently, Nate pressed his hands against the back of Brad’s knees and waited.

Brad’s lips fell open as he exhaled with anticipation. He gave a slight, but well-understood nod of permission.

The greedy smile hadn’t even fully formed on Nate’s lips before he had Brad’s knees pressed high toward his chest. He slid to his stomach and nipped at the sensitive skin of Brad’s inner thigh. Shallow it may have been, but one of Nate’s nagging regrets when he thought they were only getting a one-night stand was that he hadn’t been able to do this.

He tongued softly against Brad’s ass and watched Brad’s mouth slacken. Another soft press made Brad’s breath hitch. Another had Nate’s cock throbbing.

“Fuck, Nate. Don’t do this half-assed,” Brad laughed with exasperation.

Nate took that as the challenge it was. “I don’t do anything half-assed, Brad.”

Brad groaned at the push of Nate’s pointed tongue to his ass again. Nate’s breath swept against Brad’s skin; his hands gripped Brad’s hips hard. Brad was particularly gorgeous like this, with his hand moving slowly over his dick and his blue eyes glassy with arousal. Firmly, Nate pressed past Brad’s pucker and then pulled back. He pushed Brad’s hips higher and fucked him with his tongue. Brad was practically vibrating.

Nate licked a broad stripe slowly up past Brad’s balls. He sucked along Brad’s knuckles where his fist was squeezing the shaft of his cock. Brad’s groan turned into a gasp as Nate circled the crown with the tip of his tongue.

“You ok with this?”

“Do I sound like I’m having a bad time?”

Nate’s fingertip circled Brad’s hole and Brad shifted encouragingly. Nate smiled. “You said you mostly top.”

“Condoms are in the drawer, Nate. Hurry the fuck up.”

Nate dropped to the mattress for another lick. Brad’s deep moan vibrated all the way to Nate’s tongue. His own cock was hard and rubbing on the smooth sheets. As much as Nate loved making Brad come apart like this, he was going to have to get the move on before he drove himself crazy.

“Shit, you are good at that,” Brad gasped.

Nate practically leapt for the bedside table. Condom. Lube. Fuck yes.

He slid one lubed finger into Brad’s ass, working the slick in slowly. He was already so open and ready.

“I _mostly_ top, but Jesus, Nate. I’m not a nervous virgin. Get your dick in me.”

“Hold your fucking horses, Colbert,” Nate smiled, adding another finger.

A flush was spreading across Brad’s chest. He groaned and stroked his cock restlessly. “Goddamn you are going to be the end of me.”

Nate pressed deeper and curved. Brad gasped.

“Are you trying to get me to beg?”

Nate smiled broadly. “Is that an option? I wouldn’t turn it down.” He pulled at his own cock in rhythm with his fingers.

Brad started rocking his hips onto Nate’s hand impatiently. “More,” he gritted out.

Nate laughed. “Ok, but you’re not good at this begging thing.”

Nate lined up and slowly pushed. Brad resisted for a fraction of a second and then Nate slid inside his warmth.

“Oh, shit,” Nate gasped. He felt like he was going to come undone. A moment for Brad to adjust gave Nate a moment to haul himself back from the ragged edge with a few deep breaths. He swung his hips experimentally. Brad wrapped his legs around Nate’s waist.

“Fuck me,” Brad ordered.

“Such a bossy bottom,” Nate teased, trying to keep his voice steady.  How could they be so much alike?  The gravity of that pushed on Nate's mind, threatening to form itself into a coherent idea; one with real meaning that Nate wouldn't be able to ignore.  

He stroked his thumb over Brad’s lips and met Brad’s tongue in response. Nate barely retained his composure. It was hard with Brad’s ass tight around him. The expression of raw need on Brad’s face was absolutely gorgeous. All of this was fast. Nate felt half mad with emotions and the pleasure coursing through him.

Brad let Nate control their kiss. Nate sucked on the tip of Brad’s tongue. He felt the sharp edge of Brad’s teeth. His lips brushed across the stubble on Brad’s upper lip. He panted into Brad’s mouth as he swung his hips.

Brad took handfuls of Nate’s flexing ass and pushed him deeper. Nate let Brad control their pace, and Brad wanted it fast. Nate looped his hands up around Brad’s strong shoulders and followed Brad’s lead.

Brad cried out with every thrust. He curved his hips to take Nate at a better angle, and yelled, “Oh, fuck! Yes!”

Nate leaned back and grabbed Brad’s ankles. Brad was nearly lost to their pleasure, and his hands slipped off Nate’s hips. Nate drove deeper, faster. Brad’s eyes locked with Nate’s and his expression intensified. Nate spit in his hand and pumped it along Brad’s dick.

“Brad! Oh, god, I’m gonna--” Nate’s orgasm rocketed down his spine like lightening.

Brad clenched around him and called out his name through gritted teeth. Nate collapsed over him, a hot smear of Brad’s come between them as they panted.

****

There was no way that Walt was falling back to sleep with that going on in the next room.

Ray reached over and grabbed Walt’s iPod. They each got an earbud. Their music blotted out most of it, but even Ray blushed a little in the dark.

Being this close to Ray and knowing what was going on next door... Walt’s tongue slid along Ray’s lips and everything else receded.

* * *

 _Friday_  
  
Brad rolled over and looked at the clock.  
  
“Do you have class this morning?”  
  
“I’m pretending that I don’t so I can stay here with you.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Let me clarify: So I can stay here with you and fuck you again.”  
  
That gave Brad some pause. Still, “Nope. You told me that school is important.”  
  
“Fine,” Nate mock-whined. “I’ll go.”  
  
“If it helps motivate you to get moving, I’m going to need a shower after I finish running over there to your apartment.”  
  
Nate swatted at Brad before he rolled out of bed. “If you really value my education, you won’t say that kind of thing to me again before I have to go to lecture.”  
  
****  
  
“Yo, congrats,” Ray said.  
  
Brad rolled his eyes. Nate fished in his backpack on the couch and gave Ray back the travel mug from Sunday.  
  
“I’m glad you’re smart enough to not be stupid,” Ray said.  
  
Brad and Nate exchanged a little smile. If Ray wasn’t already over the moon because of that blond fucker in his bedroom right now, he would have retched. For Brad this was basically like drawing hearts around Nate’s name and jizzing glitter all over that shit; disgustingly out of character. Ray could sympathize, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to poke at them about it.  
  
“Should I get out your secret stash of stickers, Brad, and put Nate’s name on the mailbox?”  
  
Brad and Nate still hadn’t said anything and that made Ray antsy. They just smiled at each other again. And they eyefucked each other so hard that Ray felt like he should invent a room-sized condom to prevent all of Miami from being contaminated. The lack of a rise from either of them made him need to say more stuff to fill up the silence.  
  
“What exact positions were you using last night because--”  
  
“Ray.”  
  
Brad’s one-word response was enough. Ray smiled broadly and poured the coffee. Nate’s response was what surprised him enough to slosh the precious beverage onto the counter.  
  
“You’d better get used to it, Ray.”  
  
****  
  
Patterson came up behind Doc while he was having his morning piss. Doc leaned back into Patterson’s solid chest, but kept his eyes on his aim. Patterson’s stubbled cheek nestled in behind Doc’s ear.  
  
“Empty your dick and then put this on,” Patterson said, dropping a blindfold on the back of the john.  
  
After that little order, it was difficult to finish pissing.  
  
Doc pulled the blindfold on and walked slowly out of the bathroom, trying not to stub his toe on the door jamb and ruin the mood. Patterson grabbed his searching hand and led him down the hallway to the right. That meant this little morning delight -- whatever Bryan had cooked up -- was happening in the bedroom.  
  
Patterson unceremoniously picked Doc up by the waist and chucked him sprawling on the bed. The blindfold shifted and he caught a sliver of light and shadow. The bed dipped when Patterson climbed up and straddled Doc’s hips. Patterson’s hands cupped Doc’s cheeks and fixed the position of the blindfold. The last thing Doc saw was Patterson’s lips curving into a smirk.  
  
“So, you gave Nate a standing invitation,” Patterson said in his growl.  
  
“Yes, I fucking did,” Doc said defiantly. Patterson pinned Doc’s hands near his head in response.  
  
“You’re willing to have him come over here so I can fuck him?”  
  
Doc wondered what expression was on Patterson’s face. “If you let me watch.”  
  
“Maybe you need to keep this blindfold on and just listen to me fuck him.”  
  
Patterson ground down on Doc’s crotch with his ass. The friction had Doc gritting his teeth.  
  
Patterson continued. “The sound of our sweaty skin slapping together. Him trying to bite back his cries as I slid my cock into his ass balls-deep. Would I let you jerk yourself off?”  
  
“Shit, yes, please,” Doc said. He shifted his hips under Patterson, but Patterson locked his knees against Doc’s hips and stopped the motion.  
  
“What if he brought Brad?” Patterson prompted him. “Should I let you fuck Brad? Or should we watch them fuck each other? I bet they look good together, Tim. Nate’s dancer body on top of Brad, thrusting into his ass. Or Brad slipping his fingers into Nate’s hole while he sucks him off.”  
  
The scene was vivid behind Doc’s eyelids. Bryan drew a thumb across Doc’s lips that sent a shiver ricocheting down Doc’s spine.  
  
Patterson shifted off the bed. It was cold without the warmth of his body pushing Doc’s into the mattress. Then his hands were back on Doc’s waist, pressing Doc’s hips to the bed. The wet shock of Patterson’s tongue dipping into Doc’s navel made him gasp. Patterson stripped Doc’s boxers off and settled back over Doc’s hard-on with his ass bare. Doc groaned at the tease. Patterson was only going to give him more when he was good and ready.  
  
“I’d sit Brad down next to me on the couch and make him watch while his boyfriend licked my hard cock. Do you think he’s ever had a PA in the back of his throat before, Tim?”  
  
The mental picture of Nate’s pink lips stretched around Patterson’s dick made Doc’s cock throb.  
  
“I asked you a question, Tim. Do you think he’d know how to thread his tongue around the ring like you do?”  
  
Doc’s voice came out dry and cracking. “No, sir. No one can suck your cock like I can.”  
  
Patterson chuckled. “That’s the truth, Tim. Maybe you should teach Nate how to get me off, how to gag on my cock. You could watch him use his mouth on me, but you’d be watching from between Brad’s knees.”  
  
Doc moaned again. Patterson’s fist closed around Doc’s cock. “Oh, fuck!” Patterson already knew that Doc occasionally fantasized about their bartender. The idea of blowing Brad while Doc was hidden behind the bar was something he and Patterson talked about once while Patterson was jerking him off.  
  
“Do you think you could get Brad to come down your throat while he watched Nate’s lips wrap around me?”  
  
“Fuck, Bryan,” Doc whispered, restlessly shifting his hips to thrust his cock into Patterson’s fist.  
  
Patterson slid down Doc’s body and pushed his knees up. Doc’s asshole clenched in anticipation.  
  
“Or maybe you want to give those boys a little lesson in how it’s done. You think they know how to rim a man until he comes apart? Until he’s begging to be fucked?”  
  
Doc’s thought of Brad licking into Nate’s ass was interrupted when Patterson pushed his tongue against Doc’s puckering hole. Doc bore down, reaching down to hold his cheeks apart with a guttural moan. Patterson thrust deeper. The warm buzzing heat of it suffused Doc’s ass.  
  
Patterson slid a finger in to replace his tongue. “Maybe we would bring out some of your toys. I bet Brad would get angry if you tied him up, but I think Nate has got a feisty streak. He’d get off on seeing Brad tied wide open in an X.”  
  
Fuck, Doc loved that idea. Brad’s long arms and legs held apart. His dick hanging heavy between his thighs until Doc could get his hands on it.  
  
Patterson was reading the fantasy right out of Doc’s filthy mind. “Should I let you go jack him off? Yes, I think so. I think I’d like to see your hands busy on Brad’s dick. But do you think Nate would let you?”  
  
“He better fucking let me,” Doc hissed. Patterson’s fingers were teasing the rim of Doc’s asshole. “Oh, god.”  
  
“How territorial do you think Nate is? You think he’d fight you for Brad? I’d like to watch you and Nate wrestle,” Patterson murmured.  
  
Doc heard the snick of the lube bottle opening. His hands pulled harder on his ass cheeks, knowing what was coming next: Patterson seated three fingers in Doc’s ass.  
  
“I know you know how to wrestle, but Nate is a smart one. I bet he’d be hard to pin down. Maybe if you gave him a little swat on his ass.”  
  
Doc thought he’d get a quick slap from Patterson to reinforce the fantasy, but he was left waiting. Patterson and his fucking mind games! Doc tugged at the head of his cock, desperate for something to add to the thrust of Patterson’s fingers in his ass.  
  
“What if all three of us did you, Tim. I’d slide into you just like this,” Patterson said as he pulled his fingers out and fucked his cock deep into Doc’s ass in a long, slow stroke.  
  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Oh, shit, the idea of Patterson, Nate, and Brad all using him like he was their plaything was too fucking good.  
  
“I know how much you like to have something across your tongue. You could suck them off one-by-one as I fucked you. Or could you get the heads of both of their dicks in your mouth? Pushing together over your tongue?”  
  
Doc groaned and stroked himself faster. Patterson swatted his hand away. Doc moaned and gripped the headboard slats hard. He knew his knuckles were white.  
  
“Which one of them do you think gives better head? I think it might be Nate, considering how fuckable his mouth looks. I think I’ll let Brad fuck your throat, Nate suck your dick, and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”  
  
Patterson snapped his hips hard, thrusting deep into Doc’s hole. Patterson’s fisted Doc’s leaking dick. His breath was coming faster and his words came out less smoothly.  
  
“How would you like it if we came all over your fucking face? All three of us, jerking off on you. Defiling you like the dirty bastard that you are.”  
  
Doc groaned, willing Patterson to pound into him as hard as he could. “Yes, sir, I fucking want that. Fucking make me filthy. Make me beg for your cock.” Doc was rocketing toward his orgasm.  
  
Patterson abruptly stopped. “Oh, you want to beg for it? That can be arranged.” He slid out and Doc felt bereft. “Get on your knees. Upright.”  
  
Doc’s asshole was throbbing as he sat back on his heels. “Sir, please. I fucking want it. Come on me.”  
  
The bed shifted, and then the head of Patterson’s dick was pushing against Doc’s cheek. Patterson was standing on the bed, jerking off.  
  
“Open your goddamn mouth and take this,” Patterson growled. Patterson’s hand was hard on the back of Doc’s head, holding him in place.  
  
Doc tasted the sharpness of Patterson’s hot come spurting across his tongue. He let it drip down his chin. Patterson gave a straining groan and fell to his knees in front of Doc. He pushed his mouth to Doc’s, and Doc blindly slid the taste of Patterson’s own come across his tongue. Doc’s raging hard-on leaked between them.  
  
“Fuck,” Patterson said, licking Doc’s chin. “Lay back. Right now. Lay down on the bed,” he ordered.  
  
Doc obeyed. The bedside table’s drawer clattered open. The lube bottle snicked open again. Then the press of Doc’s favorite dildo was on his ass. Patterson pounded it into him deep. He sucked hard on the the crown of Doc’s dick. Doc felt like he was going to explode with the fantasy of Patterson fucking his ass, and Nate sucking him off just like this. He muffled his moans by sucking on his own fingers, imagining Brad’s dick sliding across his tongue.  
  
He arched high off the bed when he came on Patterson’s dildo.  
  
****  
  
Ray opened the door to his room, carrying his laptop and reading the screen.  
  
“Don’t stop me now, Walt. I’m looking up recipes so we can--” Ray looked up and stopped in his tracks when he saw Walt on his bed. “Oh, shit. Sorry,” he said hurriedly.  
  
Walt’s shorts were pushed down to midthigh and his hand was curled around his dick. He stroked himself slowly and Ray looked away. He didn’t know what the fuck he should do so he just kind of stood there. Like an asshole, probably.  
  
“It’s ok,” Walt said, his voice rough with lust. “C’mere.”  
  
Ray looked, and then tried to look up at Walt’s face. His eyes kept flicking down to Walt’s cock and the thatch of dark blond curls at its base. Fuck. Ray was fucked here. He could already feel his own dick starting to harden.  
  
“Are you... seriously? Is it... are we... are you ready for this after...?”  
  
“Don’t make me get pissed off, Ray.” Walt’s hand moved more quickly. His thumb slid over the head of his cock, and Ray’s dick surged like he could feel it too. “Put down your laptop and come over here. Please. I want you to.”  
  
Hell if he needed to be told twice. Ray ditched his computer on the desk and walked over to the edge of the bed. He rocked on his feet for a second, watching Walt’s pupils dilate as his hand worked, before he crawled up onto the bed. He straddled Walt’s knees and tried not to squirm. Ray tugged at the waistband of Walt’s boxers with a finger and then pulled back.  
  
“What’s ok here? You gotta tell me,” Ray said quietly. He rubbed his hands down his thighs nervously.  
  
Walt’s eyes glistened with lust. “Will you kiss me?”  
  
Ray dropped to all fours over Walt. He kissed Walt softly on the lips, cheeks, eyebrows. Walt’s hand moved between them; it kept brushing Ray’s t-shirt.  
  
In Walt’s ear, he whispered, “Fuck, I can’t believe I have you jerking off in my bed.”  
  
“You thought about it before?”  
  
“Are you serious? Like about a thousand times.” His words turned into a groan when Walt stroked Ray through his jeans.  
  
“Jerk off with me then. I want to see you,” Walt said, his voice breathy.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Fuck you, Ray. Don’t baby me,” Walt growled, squeezing Ray’s hard cock. “I’ll tell you if it’s too much, but don’t turn down my goddamn invitation unless you really don’t want this. You want me, right?” Walt’s voice wavered.  
  
“I want this. You. I want you and this and oh shit whatever you want I want,” Ray stuttered. His hips stuttered too because Walt’s fingers were actually on his dick. Over his pants but, Jesus Christ, _still_.  
  
His jeans were too tight.  
  
Oh, fuck, too _TIGHT_. And his dick was too fucking far away from Walt’s hand.  
  
He had to get his pants off. The look on Walt’s face was so... fuck, so open and so goddamn hot. Ray jumped out of bed, tore off his shirt, and shimmied out of his jeans. Walt kicked off his boxers frantically as he watched Ray get naked. God, the look Walt was giving him... it was the kind of slick-lipped smile that makes a guy feel good about what he’s packing. Ray jumped back in to straddle Walt’s knees. It was pretty fucking obvious how much he wanted this; his cock bounced against his stomach.  
  
“Fuck, Walt.” Ray wasn’t even embarrassed at the whine his voice had become.  
  
Walt shifted his hips. “Get up closer.”  
  
Ray moved up and got his hand on his cock. Walt dripped cool lube across the head of Ray’s dick. Their knuckles bumped.  
  
“I’ve wanted... and then you’re here. This is gonna make me come like a high school kid.” Ray jerked with pleasure when Walt’s fingers joined his own for a couple of strokes.  
  
“Kiss me again. Really fucking mean it this time,” Walt said.  
  
“I always mean it, Walt,” Ray whispered.  
  
He put one hand on Walt’s chest and used the other to jack himself until he practically saw stars. More importantly, he curled down and kissed the everloving fuck out of Walt. Ray had wanted this so bad for so long; the feel of Walt’s tongue sliding against his and the brush of Walt’s dick against his fingers.  
  
Walt curled his free hand gently around the back of Ray’s neck. He broke their kiss, panting.  
  
“Ah, fuck! Yes,” Walt gasped. “More.” He arched his back into Ray’s hand on his chest. Walt’s hand moved fast on the head of his dick.  
  
Ray smiled as it dawned on him. He’d been rubbing his thumb across Walt’s nipple absently, not even really realizing he was doing it considering the sensory and emotional tornado that he was currently experiencing.  
  
He experimentally pinched Walt’s nipple and got a gasped “fuck” in response.  
  
“Yes,” Ray hissed, suddenly euphoric with the single-minded need to get Walt off. “I am fucking going to make you come.”  
  
Ray licked down Walt’s neck, from the lobe of his ear to the pink scar across his clavicle. He leaned down further over Walt and licked at his chest. He blew cool air over him. He tugged at Walt’s skin with his teeth.  
  
“Shit! Yes, that!” Walt’s hand was pushing harder on Ray’s neck, keeping Ray exactly where he wanted him.  
  
Walt thrust his hips, driving his cock into his fist. Ray did the same, timing it so their crowns would push together every time. Walt’s muscles tensed. His breathing was ragged. Ray smiled against his chest.  
  
“Come for me,” he whispered. He pinched and sucked Walt’s nipples in rhythm with the thrusts of their hips.  
  
With a strained grunt, Walt’s come looped between them. He pulled Ray’s face up and frantically licked a drop from his chin. With Walt’s tongue thrusting into his mouth, Ray was done for. He pushed into the slick coating of jizz on Walt’s stomach and came.  
  
Panting and sweaty, they just collapsed there. Ray had one brain cell left and used it to tell his body to not fall completely on top of Walt; he was still sore, and Ray didn’t want to make it worse. So, he flopped a leg over Walt’s and dragged him closer with a possessive arm over his chest.  
  
Walt laughed, and then Ray laughed.  
  
“So, yeah. That happened,” Walt said.  
  
“Fucking finally,” Ray joked, kissing Walt’s cheek.  
  
“Fucking finally,” Walt smiled, but his voice was completely serious. “Thanks, Ray.”  
  
“For coming all over you?”  
  
Walt laughed. “For one thing, yeah.”  
  
“Give me a couple of minutes and maybe I’ve got another one in me.”  
  
Walt laughed again. “Thanks for everything else too. For taking care of me.”  
  
Ray propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Walt. “Can I tell you something?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Ray could feel himself blushing. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. “Listen, I am probably in love with you or whatever. I know this is fast for you. We haven’t even had a ‘boyfriend’ talk yet. I just--”  
  
Walt reached up and silenced Ray with a sweet kiss. A tear squeezed from the corner of his eye.  
  
“Shit, Walt! I didn’t mean for--”  
  
“Shut up, you dickhead. It’s good. I swear, it’s good. It’s a lot, though.”  
  
“Ok.”  
  
“How can you even look at me like that when I’m all... damaged.”  
  
Ray dragged Walt closer, surrounding him with a tangle of his arms and legs. Jizz be damned. He rested his cheek across the scar on Walt’s upper chest. “Walt, come on. I’m the damaged one. You’re fucking perfect practically.”  
  
Walt’s breathing hitched, and Ray squeezed him. “Ray, be serious.”  
  
“You want to hear? It’s kind of fucked up.”  
  
“Yeah, I want to hear,” Walt said.  
  
“You’ve heard some of this, but not all of it. Before I started DJ-ing at _Devil Dogs_ , before Brad found me and helped me get my shit together, it was pretty bad. My parents kicked me out when they caught me hooking up with a guy. Then there were the drugs. I didn’t have a place to live, so I was on the streets for a while. I didn’t have any money, so I tried tricking. That was probably my rock bottom, actually, and I got into NA after that. My sponsor hooked me up with DJ-ing at some house parties. The rest you already know. So, see? If you’re damaged, I’m definitely damaged.”  
  
“How can you be so casual about that?”  
  
Ray shrugged. “I’m in a good place now, I guess.”  
  
“Sprawled all the fuck over me?”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
“I just...” Walt heaved in a huge breath. “I was stupid to go with those guys. They might as well have branded me across my forehead. It’s obvious and everyone knows.”  
  
“Walt, no. Absolutely no one thinks you were stupid.”  
  
A few more tears slipped out of Walt’s eyes.  
  
“Listen to me. I want you, Walt. A lot. Possibly an unhealthy amount. Your fucking face is all I think about when I jerk off. Actually, that’s not strictly true. Sometimes it’s your stupidly beautiful ass. If you give me a chance, pretty soon I’m going to be at work thinking shit like, ‘How the fuck did I get so lucky?’ and ‘When I get home, I’m gonna eat the fuck out of my boyfriend’s ass.’”  
  
“Ray,” Walt said, embarrassed.  
  
“You are going to let me eat the fuck out of your ass, right?”  
  
****  
  
Brad leaned back on the steps up to Nate’s apartment to wait. He and Nate would have to talk logistics if they were going to do this and maintain _Matilda’s_ bottom line and Nate’s academic standing. At least it was clear at this point that it was worth doing. Fuck if Brad was going to give up Nate’s rimjobs after last night’s performance.  
  
On the landing above him, the door opened and Kocher backed out with Gunny still in his arms. They whispered to each other. Kocher kissed Gunny lightly before Gunny went back inside. Kocher came bounding down the stairs like a kid on Christmas morning.  
  
“I see you had a good night,” Brad smiled.  
  
“You ain’t kidding,” Kocher grinned. “Looking for Nate?”  
  
“I’m meeting him after he gets back from class.”  
  
Kocher’s dimples deepened. “Mmhm. Should I go back upstairs and warn Mike that you two are coming?”  
  
“And ruin the surprise?”  
  
“Go easy on him, Colbert. Nate is basically his little brother. Mike’s gonna be suspicious of you for a while.”  
  
“How about you just keep him distracted?”  
  
Kocher laughed, “I’ll do my best.”  
  
“Last night went well, then,” Nate asked rhetorically, striding up the sidewalk from the parking lot.  
  
Kocher beamed. “I never kiss and tell.”  
  
Nate clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not surprising that Mike likes you so much.”  
  
“Nate, zip it,” Gunny called down from the kitchen window. Kocher laughed and waved a goodbye.  
  
Upstairs, Gunny gave Brad a vaguely suspicious look. Kocher was obviously correct in his assessment.  
  
“Simmer down, Mike,” Nate said.  
  
“Hm,” Gunny grunted. He grabbed his bag from the kitchen chair and started toward the door. “I’ve got work. Might not be home tonight.”  
  
Nate and Brad both smiled broadly. “Nice,” Nate said. “We already kept up one set of roommates last night, so that’s probably for the best.”  
  
“Christ, Nate. Keep it to yourself,” Gunny smiled. “And I’m just warnin’ ya, Mrs. Romelo already banged on her ceiling with the broom last night. She ain’t gonna be too happy if you two make her do it again.”  
  
“Get out of here,” Nate smiled.  
  
A few minutes later, a trail of clothes led to the steaming bathroom. Soap slicked their skin as they relaxed under the hot water. They weren’t doing anything except enjoying the feeling of one another. Nate tucked his nose in next to Brad’s ear and just breathed. Nothing was rushed now, though there was still that rippling undercurrent of lust that they’d had from Day 1. Day 1 being a mere week ago. A lot of things, both good and horrible, had happened in that time.  
  
“When did this become more than a one-night thing?”  
  
Brad looked thoughtful. “When you verbally kicked my ass on the way to the hospital.”  
  
Nate smiled. “Yeah? Well, you needed that.”  
  
“Yes, I did.” Brad kissed Nate’s chest and then sighed into his skin. “Not everyone can tell me I’m being an asshole and have me listen.”  
  
Nate was quiet. Brad listened to the rhythm of his breathing.  
  
“For me it was the way you kept everything running at the club to give everyone some stability even though I know you would have rather been helping Walt.”  
  
Brad stroked his fingers along Nate’s cheekbones. “I’ll tell you what sealed the deal.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Today at lunch when I saw you having a good time with my guys.”  
  
Nate smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to nomorerippedfuel this chapter for beta-ing and coming up with Pappy’s story.

** Q-Tip **

Q-Tip didn’t date no queens. At least not until the new guy showed up at Godfather’s barbecue with his jeans all hanging low and his shirt way too fuckin’ short, because... shit, have you seen the bubble butt on him? Dayum.

Rudy tossed out the football, shirts vs. skins, around the time the _Bravo Cabaret_ girls showed up. Q-Tip didn’t pay ‘em much mind except for the new guy sitting on the end of the bar, because even across the yard Q-Tip could see the cut of his biceps.

“Yo,” Q-Tip said quietly to Walt. “What’s the new guy’s name again?”

“John Christeson. Chrissy on stage. Why?” But Walt obviously knew why and grinned.

“Fuck you, motherfucker. Wipe that smile off yo’ face. Actin’ like you know what I’m thinkin’.”

Then Manimal snapped the ball and Q-Tip tackled a still-laughing Walt.

A few minutes later, Lilley’s pass went wide (boy needed to fuck less football players and practice more) and the ball bounced over by the bar where all the _Bravo_ girls were sitting. Christeson picked it up and gave Q-Tip this little smile.

“Yo, toss it here,” Q-Tip said. He walked closer, figuring that the throw was going to land short because he wouldn’t get his elbow under the ball.

But then four red-tipped fingers settled between the laces.

“Oof,” Q-Tip grunted. The new guy’s pass thudded square into Q-Tip’s gut. He barely caught the damn thing. New guy smiled again and went back to his fruity umbrella drink. Christeson’s pants were riding low and the next thing Q-Tip knew he was flat on his back under Rudy’s sweaty chest.

A couple hours later Q-Tip rolled out of Chrissy’s bed and made some lame excuse for leaving in the middle of the night. He tried keeping with his regular hook-ups, but, shit, he couldn’t get the new guy out of his head.

****

**Christeson**

Q-Tip sent so many mixed signals. First he comes on all strong, showing up with flowers after their hook up, totally sweet talking his way back into John’s bed. Then he bails after he gets his rocks off and picks up whatever piece of str8 trash comes through _Matilda’s_.

Then Q-Tip has the balls to come knocking on John’s door again like they’re dating. Like John is just going to ignore the fact that Q-Tip’s dick has been all the fuck over Miami before John’s nail polish dried.

John had the hugest crush on him despite all that. He couldn’t help it. It was something about his goofy pretty boy gangster thing and that John saw behind that a little bit to the regular guy hiding in there. The one that John might have had a “playing house” kind of dream about last night.

“Girl, cut that one loose,” T’na said one evening before their show. Chrissy had told herself the same thing a million times. Q-Tip wasn’t settling down to play house with anyone anytime soon.

But... after the show, Q-Tip was backstage again, smiling and then kissing the back of Chrissy’s hand. There was no way John couldn’t fall right back into his bed. Not with Q-Tip’s lopsided smile and surprising, whispered invitation to top him.

In the morning, for once Q-Tip was still there. He doodled a little house and little flowers on John’s hands with a ballpoint pen.

****

** Patterson **

Patterson didn’t get nervous. Not in court, not when he came out to his aged grandparents, never. Consequently, the sensation of his fingers tingling and his chest fluttering was foreign.

Before Tim, aftercare on his subs had just been part of the game. Feed them, wash them up, pat them on the ass, and send them on their merry, well-fucked way. It was what a dom was supposed to do, and he did it. Now, however, he didn’t just do aftercare. Now it was Patterson’s favorite part.

Tim would stretch long and sigh under Patterson’s gentle hands as Patterson bathed him or massaged away the kinks in Tim’s muscles from an awkward position. Tim could look at him in this incredibly unguarded way. The sharp hint of embarrassment that used to show on Tim’s face after an intense scene wasn’t there anymore. Now his eyes would be half lidded and a smile would tickle the corners of his mouth, totally debauched and open to Patterson’s every want. Then he’d say something bitingly sarcastic just to make Patterson laugh.

That made the tingling, fluttering warmth easy to diagnose. Looking down on Tim’s languid form, Patterson was the first of them to say, “I love you.”

****

** Doc **

“Fuck!” Doc cried as Patterson sharply spanked his ass in counterpoint to the deep thrusts of his dick. He didn’t have to see it to know his skin was an angry red. The thought of fingermarks -- Bryan’s fingermarks -- made him groan into the mattress.

Never with anyone else had Doc felt this way. Every time with Bryan was like this. He felt like he was somewhere between going crazy and being happier than he thought was humanly possible. The mind-bending ecstasy that he felt in Patterson’s control, the way that Patterson’s power enveloped him... he got drunk on it.

Doc pushed his hips back, trying to fuck Patterson deeper. He wanted to make him feel just a fraction of what he did. If he could just give Bryan everything...

Patterson leaned over Doc’s back, pressing against the sore skin of his ass. His breath moved the hairs at the back of Doc’s neck, and he whispered quiet words of praise for Doc’s perfect hole and how eager he always was to take Patterson’s rough treatment. Doc moaned in response.

When Bryan leaned back and thrust deep and fast, those three little words just tumbled out of Tim’s mouth.

****

** Pappy **

Everybody said that it didn't make you gay if you thought Rudy was hot, but Shawn was, like, 100% sure he was gay for Rudy. More like 125%.

They’d lived next door to each other since elementary school. Shawn's parents moved to Miami from North Carolina when Shawn was 5, and they’d been best friends since. Rudy was the one that started calling him Pappy for some reason Rudy refused to confess.

Then Homecoming happened. They were only freshmen, but these sophomore cheerleaders had asked them out. Shawn was in Rudy’s bathroom trying to decide if tonight was the night that he’d have to start shaving. He had a couple of blond hairs if he looked in the mirror real close.

Shawn blushed when he realized Rudy was leaning in the doorway watching him examine his face.

“Let me hook you up, Pappy,” Rudy said quietly. He had put on his dress pants already, but he was still wearing this too small t-shirt from his old karate school. Rudy had shot up, like, three inches in the last two months so Shawn could see a stripe of skin below the hem of Rudy’s shirt.

About half-way through Rudy shaving his face, Shawn remembered he should breathe. He also realized he had a grip on Rudy’s bicep.

“Oh, sorry,” Shawn said, blushing again and dropping his hand.

A weirdly sad look crossed over Rudy’s face and his shoulders drooped just barely. He’d never said anything about liking boys or girls, so Shawn hadn’t ever said anything about liking him.

Rudy pulled his hands back. “Am I going too far?”

Shawn sputtered. “No,” he whispered. Then he took a chance and pulled Rudy in by his too-small shirt.

They didn't make it to Homecoming.

  
****

**Rudy**

“Math is going to kill me,” Rudy said, burying his face in his textbook. His feet hung off the end of his bed.

“Come on,” Pappy raised Rudy’s chin and smiled. “I’ll make you a deal. Every problem you get, I’ll give you something.”

“Pap--”

Pappy flicked open the top button on his school uniform shirt, and Rudy’s eyes snapped to the motion.

“Oh.” They had just sort of started secretly dating, and the flush of teenage hormone-driven lust that washed through him just about made him fall off the bed.

“You have to do the math problem first,” Pappy laughed.

Rudy sat up and worked through the first problem on his assignment quickly. He was impressed with himself, considering the distraction sitting to his left.

Pappy undid the rest of the buttons with a quiet smirk. “Good work. I know you can do another one.”

Rudy worked another problem and turned back to Pappy with an eager look. Pappy slipped his shirt off and ran his hands up Rudy’s thighs.

“Concentrate,” Pappy smirked. “Math isn’t that hard. You can do it, Rud,” he said, kneading Rudy’s thighs.

Rudy abandoned his pencil and leaned toward his best friend...

“Boys! Dinner,” Rudy’s mom called from downstairs. They fell on each other giggling.

****

** Godfather **

He kept his hat on and stood near the back of the cabaret on a Friday night. The new queen, Jenn, had caught his eye last week and he wanted to watch her perform without anyone coming up to ask him to autograph that picture of him sprawled on the bear skin rug. The fame of modeling was only useful to finance Godfather’s business aspirations. He had a healthy bank account; all he needed was the right investment.

Jenn slinked on stage all fishnet-covered legs and fringed hotpants. Her lips were redder than red. Jet black spit curls fell around her face like a modern day Betty Boop. Stephen was rapt as she sang a breathy version of a cabaret song and ran her finger along the cheek of a man in the front row.

After the show, the bouncer got an autograph so Godfather could get back to Jenn’s dressing room. He meant to just chat with her about the possibility of working together once Godfather opened his club.

But then he saw James, brown hair pulled away from his face with a pink band as he removed his makeup; his sequined top unzipped and pressed down to his waist. He smiled at Godfather in the mirror.

Really, that was it for Stephen. Love at first sight.

****

** Mattis **

Stephen Ferrando was too handsome to put into words. James had first seen him while he was flipping through a magazine while getting a pedicure at this little place in the West Village. Stephen was laid out on a bear skin rug... he was Burt Reynolds but a thousand times better looking. His square jaw was such a counterpoint to his soft blue eyes.

They’d first met after one of Jenn’s shows. Before he even introduced himself properly, Stephen had asked Jenn on a date. She knew who he was, though, and turned him down nicely. He was simply out of her league -- famous and gorgeous -- and she had no expectation that he’d want anything other than a one-night stand. She had to protect herself after all.

Months later, James was in the wrong place in the wrong time. Stephen had been there in the aftermath to nurse James’ broken body and despairing heart back to something resembling normalcy. James kept himself wrapped in an old afghan that his grandmother had crocheted. It covered his bruises and muffled the noises of the city when he cocooned himself in it. Stephen crouched in front of the couch and his gentle hands pulled the blanket aside. The warm press of his lips to every scar on James’ body had James pulling away, crossing his arms over himself with embarrassment. Stephen went slowly, repeating every touch and whispering “beautiful” with each kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from “My Heart Belongs to Daddy” as performed by Julie London. 

_ Saturday _

“Mmmm, hmph,” Brad snuffled into Nate’s shoulder when Nate rolled over to look at the clock.

Brad was sprawled, all legs and arms, across Nate. Who would have thought Brad Colbert was a cuddler once he was thoroughly fucked. Certainly Nate didn’t expect it. They’d been too exhausted the previous times Nate had slept next to Brad to do anything other than collapse into bed and jump up the next day to go to work or class. It was a weird thought that they’d slept in the same bed more times than not since they met each other. This wasn’t what Nate thought he’d be getting when he got a job to pay tuition. He smiled and stretched.

“No class today,” Brad mumbled. His left arm tightened around Nate’s waist, dragging him closer.

Nate chuckled. “No, no class today.” Brad’s hair still smelled of Nate’s shampoo from their shower yesterday.

“‘N’ your roommate is presumably getting fucked by our bouncer.” Brad hadn’t opened his eyes. He moved his lips against Nate’s skin in a half-awake kiss. Nate was amused at the list of reasons Brad was giving to keep them in bed. “Work doesn’t start for hours,” Brad continued.

“So you’re saying I should stay in bed with you then.”

Brad grunted. “Pragmatic.” He squeezed Nate again for good measure, and fell back asleep.

Nate grinned into Brad’s hair and eventually fell back asleep too. This was a pretty good arrangement and, amazingly, despite the compressed timeline, it didn’t feel like a bad idea anymore. The opposite, if anything.

***

Ray squeezed Walt’s hand when they walked alongside Godfather’s and Mattis’ house to the backyard. James had called Walt last night and invited them over for brunch. Walt spent the rest of the night alternatingly giddy about seeing Mattis and nervous that his memories of the attack would spill over and break him into a million pieces. Ray had made tea and locked Walt in a warm hug of his wiry arms and legs. He spent the night telling Walt stream-of-consciousness stories, the kind that irritated Brad to no end. Walt woke up this morning feeling good and jerked off his boyfriend as a little thank you.

As soon as Walt rounded the corner and saw Mattis, however, he broke down in tears. Mattis wrapped him up in his arms, his shawl covering Walt like a security blanket.

“Shhhh, baby boy, I know,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Just let it out. We’ve got you.”

Walt’s body shook with his sobs. Ray tentatively touched Walt’s waist, and Walt desperately folded him into their hug.

Ray stroked Walt’s hair. “I love you, Walt,” he whispered, and Walt let out a wracked cry that felt like catharsis.

****

Brad rolled on top of Nate and kissed his neck. “Let’s go, Fick. We should get up.” He slapped Nate’s hip as if Nate was the one who’d instigated this procrastination.

“Says the guy who just sleep-drooled on me for the past two hours.”

It was noon. They’d spent the morning drifting in and out of sleep, wrapped around each other. It was a rare luxury in their busy schedules and one they likely wouldn’t get again soon.

Brad wiped at his lip and looked proud of himself. “Stop being so comfortable then.”

“If I don’t get some food in me soon, I will get bonier in a hurry.”

“If I wanted bony, I’d date Ray.”

“There is so much wrong with that sentence,” Nate laughed.

Brad shrugged, gazing down at Nate, an idea obviously dawning across his face. “Or, rehearsal’s not until 2:00. We can wait a little longer,” Brad said, changing his tune with a hungry look in his eye. “Just suggesting that we make the best use of our time.”

Nate rolled them over for a little wake up call that had Brad walking into _Matilda’s_ later with a particularly satisfied grin on his face.

* * *

_Sunday _

Doc held up his hand when Patterson walked into his sewing room. “Just turn around and walk back out. Don’t be a dick.”

Patterson smiled. Doc didn’t look up from the pair of black hotpants he was pinning together. “No time for a little afternoon delight with your man?”

“You know how much work I have to do. Fuck you.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Patterson bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Tim was getting riled up.

“Bryan, seriously. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Ok, ok. I’m leaving.”

Doc grunted and clipped the threads on the seam he just sewed.

Patterson kissed the side of Doc’s neck and whispered, “What if I just stand over here and jerk off while I watch you work?”

“Bryan!”

Patterson brought Tim a mug of tea and turned on his favorite, shitty pop music before he went to his bedroom to jerk off. If he moaned Tim’s name a little loudly, Tim could just turn up the volume.

****

“Gather up!” Sixta was standing with his hands clasped behind his back and looking over the bunch of them like he was commanding the world’s gayest army. “Day after tomorry is the big show. You got exactly 52 hours to unfuck y’selves. There ain’t gonna be any embarassin’ sheeeit up there on Godfather’s stage.”

“Thank you, John,” Brad said. Sixta narrowed his eyes at the men and then nodded sharply at Brad. Brad had called the employee meeting early today with Godfather’s blessing. There was still a shit ton of stuff to get done before Halloween and, as Sixta had just pointed out in his particularly colorful way, they only had a couple of days to wrap up all of the loose ends.

“Kocher, status on security.”

“Ready. Three on the floor, two on the door, one sweeper.”

“Good. I don’t need to tell you to watch your sectors. Parking.”

“In process. Bids out. Due back tomorrow. Permits set.”

“Poke, status on inventory.”

“Waiting on the beer distributor to get his head out of his ass.”

“We can’t wait any longer, Poke. Get him to cooperate or we have to find someone else.”

Poke nodded.

"Ray, host."

"Um, yeah. He texted that he’s rolling in tomorrow. Bringing a couple of friends. Should be good."

"Fuck yeah it will be, bro! Think you can introduce me?" Lilley looked like he was going to jizz in his pants.

Brad ignored him. "Good. Godfather will drop an ad in the paper to announce them. Get the details to him by 1700. Rudy, Nate, status on the dancers.”

Rudy gestured for Nate to speak. “Dry run today. Dress rehearsal tomorrow. Looking good as long as we don’t let our emotions take over come Tuesday night.”

All of them nodded somberly. All of this was for Walt, and everyone was still feeling raw.

* * *

_Monday, the night before Halloween _

Walt shoved his shirts (and at least one of Ray’s) into his backpack. Ray’s bed was starting to feel like home, but he had to go back to his apartment. At least for a while he had to not be a burden on Ray and Brad. It was kind of the next logical step toward recovery, right? Doing things on his own, in his own place?

Ray kept looking up from his laptop to watch Walt pack. He was working the kinks out of his Halloween set. Walt’s stomach flopped over with a combination of excitement and dread about going back to work tomorrow night.

“I’m gonna go,” Walt said softly.

Ray yanked his headphones off. “You know you don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, it’s time.” Walt’s shoulder gave a faint tweak when he swung the backpack on. Ray could never hide his emotions very well, and right now he looked hurt. “But... you wanna come with me?” Walt held out his hand.

Ray jumped up. “Fuck yeah, I do. Casa Hasser, I’ve been wanting to defile you there for months.” He randomly shoved some stuff into his bag and grinned like a kid on Halloween.

Walt rolled his eyes. He loved that Ray was making him feel like everything was normal. It wasn’t exactly normal yet, but it was getting there. Seeing Mattis yesterday had helped. Just knowing that there was someone else around who was a... survivor. Walt swallowed hard.

“Come on, you freak. Let’s go,” Walt said. His smile was fragile but Ray’s arm around his waist felt strong.

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ freak.”

The walk over was short. Ray held Walt’s hand the entire time. He rattled on about if there was in fact a freak flag what exactly it would look like. Was the Jolly Roger a freak flag? Pirates were pretty weird fuckers with, like, beads and bandanas and totally homo cruise boats.

The dim light in the stairwell sort of freaked Walt out, but Ray’s permaboner pushing into the back of his thigh as they climbed the flight of stairs kind of took Walt’s mind off it.

“I’ve got your back,” Ray whispered.

Inside, the apartment smelled musty. Ray went around and opened all the windows. Walt opened his fridge. He didn’t have much in there after Nate and Brad had come over and cleaned out the spoiled milk and old food. And Lilley had drunk all but two of Walt’s beers when he came over the Wednesday before...

Walt swallowed. His breath was shaky. He grabbed the two remaining beers and closed the refrigerator door.

“Sit down for a minute,” Walt said. He shoved a beer in Ray’s hand.

Ray looked suddenly nervous.

“I need to ask you something. It’s probably going to suck.”

Ray was in the process of taking a huge drink of his beer and sputtered. “Are you... you’re not breaking up with me right now, are you?”

Walt huffed a laugh and smiled at Ray’s paranoia. Walt was scared of phantoms jumping out of the shadows, and Ray was scared of getting his heart broken. Neither was going to happen, Walt knew. “Ray, no. I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Then ok. Anything else you ask is gonna be a cakewalk.”

Walt looked at him seriously and took a drink of his beer, trying to get the courage to talk, to really ask. He laughed a little at himself when he decided the easy part was to say, “First thing is, I’m in love with you.”

Ray gasped, but Walt barreled on with what he had to say. He was afraid he’d chicken out.

“...And I need you to tell me exactly what happened in the alley.”

Fuck if the giddy little smile forming on Ray’s face wasn’t the cutest thing ever. “Can you go back to the first part?”

“Come on. I need to know.”

“Ah, shit. Ok.” Ray scooted closer to Walt on the couch and put both of their beers on the coffee table. “I figured you were going to ask sometime,” Ray said softly.

“I gotta know.” Walt felt his throat tightening. “I can’t remember much clearly,” he rasped. His skin prickled painfully at the snippets of what he could remember. Mostly he remembered the sour smells of sweat and garbage, and sounds... the sound of bone on brick.

Ray wiped his hand down his face. “I saw you with Creepy Dude the night before, you know.” His voice was barely over a breath.

Dull pain started throbbing in Walt’s shoulder at the memory of that guy’s face.

“I was so jealous that I could barely work. I just wanted, I don’t know, to fucking break shit. I was pissed that I could never be that kind of guy.”

“Ray--”

“Yeah, I know. I misread that. I get that now.” He put on that crazy, wide, toothy grin of his, the one that made his dimples deep. The one that was currently making Walt’s heart beat in his ears. “Now that you can’t keep your hands off my banging bod.”

“Shut up,” Walt smiled. Ray's words sounded particularly goofy because he had on his My Little Pony t-shirt.

Ray shrugged. “Goes both ways.” Ray put his hand on Walt’s shoulder. The pressure felt good, eased the ache a little. Walt reached up and ran his fingers over Ray’s knuckles. A few of them were still scabbed over.

Shit.

He really wanted to melt into Ray’s touch. This was the guy who had basically saved his life. Walt couldn’t decide if he was having a moment of clarity or if he was all fucked up confused. He wanted to decide he didn’t really need to know about the alley. It could wait until sometime after he just looked up and fell into Ray’s kiss just to thank him for everything, just to have Ray comfort him a little more.

But Ray was apparently a motherfucking mindreader. A brave, goofy, in-tune boyfriend that Walt had fallen in love with finally. Walt’s face must have been showing exactly what he was thinking, because Ray shook his head and kept on. At least he was gentle about it.

“Then, you were such a fucking tease to me in the hallway.”

Walt smiled at that memory. Ray smiled too and traced the tendons in the back of Walt’s hand with a finger.

“But Creepy Dude was back too. I basically went to the dressing room after work and pouted. I wish I could have known. Or that I had just had the balls to--”

“You couldn’t have known.”

Ray shook his head. “I’m still so fucking sorry I didn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Ray sandwiched Walt’s hand between his. “After that, I left through the alley door and heard... things. I wasn’t really sure who it was at first, but then I heard your voice. You were fighting them, telling them to get the fuck off--” Ray’s words caught in his throat. When he spoke again, it was gravelly. “I remember being proud of you, you know?”

Shit. “What? Why?” Walt’s voice was a whisper.

“Seriously, _why_? Jesus. Because they were-- And you just weren’t giving up. I mean, hell, Walt.”

Walt was stunned.

“That’s when I just sort of flipped out.”

Walt tried to remember Ray getting there, tried to remember fighting. All he could get was the feeling of his air getting knocked out of him. That was vivid enough to make his throat feel thick.

Ray’s thumbs softly kneaded the flesh on his palm as he spoke. “I came around the side of the dumpster and pepper sprayed the hell out of everything. I remember being so scared that you were going to breathe that shit in and, I don’t know, suffocate. But the one guy had hit your head on the wall and you collapsed there, like, right onto the ground. It was so fucked up. They kept calling you these horrible names.”

Walt imagined their places reversed. What would he have done if it had been Ray there, and he had to see that? Tears started stinging Walt’s eyes. Ray’s were shiny too. Walt couldn’t remember the name-calling, and maybe that was a good thing.

“I just went apeshit. I don’t really remember the specifics, just that I had to hurt them as much as I could. I maced two of them in the face. Seeing them hurt, rolling on the ground... I was fucking so _happy_ to see them suffer. Shit, that is so fucked up.” Ray kissed Walt’s hands. He took a deep breath. “It was like I’d forgotten about you for a second while I stood there like... Fuck, I was so goddamn stupid! I still haven’t stopped kicking myself over those couple of seconds I stood there gloating.”

“It’s ok.”

“No. Nothing about that shit is ok, Walt. Nothing.” Ray’s eyelashes were wet.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Walt rasped through his emotions.

Ray looked pained. He dragged Walt into a hug and shook with a silent sob.

“It wasn’t your fault either,” Ray whispered.

Walt climbed into Ray’s lap, knees either side of Ray’s narrow hips, and curled into him. He nodded against his shoulder.

“After that,” Ray continued, his lips moving against Walt’s neck, “I tried to drag you to the door but I was super afraid I was hurting you. I kind of started to panic. Good thing Kocher came running down the alley, because I was really starting to wig out. Then the cops came. And the ambulance.”

There was a long silence. Both of them had wet cheeks.

“Thanks.”

Ray sort of laughed. “Any time.”

Walt sort of laughed too.

****

“Godfather wanted you to come over for dinner so he could discuss a new venture with you,” Godfather rasped after they’d dished up their food.

“Something for _Matilda’s_? I have a few ideas, sir,” Brad said with his fork poised over his rice and beans.

Godfather smiled. He shared a look with James. Brad’s eyebrows came down slightly. He suddenly felt off-balance despite the broad smile on Mattis’ face.

“How would you feel about buying it from me?”

Brad’s fork clattered against his plate.

****

Walt kissed the salty trail on Ray's cheek. "Thanks. For loving me, I mean. You know, despite all that."

"It's not like you gave me a choice with you being so perfect every time I turned around."

Walt snorted. As if. “I mean it. Thanks.” The things that Walt needed to say thank you for were almost too big to get his head around.

Walt could feel the flare of heat in Ray’s cheeks under his kiss. Something about it -- the selflessness of it, maybe, how he’d basically saved Walt’s life like some kind of skinny ass, one man SWAT team and here he was blushing about it -- sparked a sharp tingle of lust in Walt. His quick jokes made most people write Ray off as a jackass. Hell, that had kind of been Walt’s first impression too. But all Walt was seeing now was the way Ray’s eyes were so soft, full of caring, adoration maybe too. How could he look at Walt like that? It made him feel like nothing else existed, all that attention surrounding him, it sucked the breath out of him in the best way.

Fuck, this was all moving so fast. He wanted Ray so bad. The feel of his wiry muscles, the five o’clock shadow along his top lip. Handjobs were as far as they’d gotten so far, and he already knew that Ray had a seriously great cock. All he’d been thinking about was how it was gonna be the perfect size in his mouth, in his ass. God, he wanted to...

He exhaled and tried to get his thoughts in order. << _Focus, Hasser. Make sure that you’re definitely up for this. >>_ He tried to feel for the aches, if any of them were too bad...

Ray’s slow, even breaths were making that little V of flesh and muscle at the base of his throat move in and out. In and out. In and-- fuck.

Mattis had said that being with Godfather had been what he needed. Hearing that was like getting permission to let all of these feelings that he had been stifling out. With Ray’s arms around him, his fingers playing with the hem of Walt’s shirt, Walt knew he was ready to make it happen. And considering the circumstances, there was no fucking way that Ray was gonna make the first move right now. Walt was going to have to go for it himself.

He kissed Ray softly. “Thanks for taking care of me,” Walt whispered against Ray’s lips.

Ray stroked his hands down Walt’s back, one after another, over and over. “I wanted to,” he finally said, a little croak in his quiet voice.

Walt felt his own cheeks heat. “What _else_ do you want to do?”

Ray stopped moving.

“What do you want to do, Ray?” Walt pushed a little with his words.

Ray was at a loss, fishmouthing a little. “I’m... Fuck, Walt, but what if I accidentally hurt you? You gotta tell me if--”

Walt grabbed Ray’s wrist, maneuvering Ray’s hand between them and pushing it against Walt’s boner.

“How’s that? Is that telling you what you want to know?”

“That’s pretty good,” Ray said dryly. “I could use a little more, though.” He smiled and squeezed.

Walt shuddered. Jesus, that felt so goddamn good. “I want you to fuck me," he blurted out. For a split second it was terrifying. Then all it was was the truth.

Ray looked surprised. He laid his forehead against Walt’s, saying, “Holy shit, homes. Me, though?”

“Didn’t I just tell you I love you?”

“Yeah, but, for real?”

Walt laughed. “How long until you think you’re gonna believe me when I say it?”

Ray sighed and moved his forehead to Walt’s shoulder, kissing him there. “Yeah, but... me? I mean, so soon?” He squeezed Walt in a hug.

“I want you, Ray. _You._ And now.”

Ray looked up. “Don’t yell at me, ‘cause I’m gonna ask: Are you really, absolutely sure?”

“I am absolutely sure.”

“If anything is not ok, just stop me. Just say, like, I don’t know, a safeword?” Ray blushed again.

“Milkshake,” Walt said immediately. “But I’m not going to need it.”

“You can’t know that.”

Walt shrugged. “You always take care of me.”

Ray palmed Walt’s cheek. He looked at Walt so thoroughly, so softly, so crazily in love. The intensity of it could have about carried Walt away. Then Ray smirked and squeezed Walt’s dick again with his other hand.

“Let’s start by dealing with this.”

Walt nodded.

“I want to do this in your bed though. I kind of...”

Walt cocked his head and smiled. He ran his hand around Ray’s hip and tweaked his ass cheek. “What?”

“I have been wanting to make a mess out of your bed for a while, ok?”

“ _Yes_ , ok. Fuck yes,” Walt said emphatically. He grabbed Ray and dragged him toward his room.

Walt turned when he got to the edge of the bed. Ray pushed right up into his space, sliding into a kiss that was full of slow tongue. Walt knew Ray wouldn’t push things tonight, not like they’d eventually work up to if Walt had any say in it, not like the fantasies that kept distracting Walt when Ray was at work the last couple of nights. The ones where Ray would leave fingernail marks on his hips. This kiss, though, was a good start. Ray had two handfuls of Walt’s ass. He was pushing into Walt’s mouth, forcing Walt’s back to arch against the pressure. The dull ache of Walt’s shoulder was forgotten.

Ray lifted Walt’s shirt over his head. He sat Walt down on the edge of the bed and unlaced his shoes. He pulled off Walt’s socks. It was all so gentle, the light, sure touch of Ray’s hands.

Ray looked up at him from his position between Walt’s knees. He ran his hand up the leg of Walt’s jeans and massaged his calf. Then the other leg, gently squeezing down to Walt’s ankle, the arch of his foot, his toes. Walt fell back onto the bed with a sigh.

The brush of Ray’s fingers across his stomach when he undid Walt’s pants sent a needy shiver through him.

“I want you so fucking bad,” Walt said.

Ray pulled Walt’s jeans off silently. Walt had to admit, he figured Ray would be all over an invitation to fuck him. He figured it was gonna be sloppy and over fast and that they’d just giggle while laying in the wet spot.

The look on Ray’s face kind of explained it though. There was definitely a hint of nervousness in Ray’s eyes. He was giving Walt every chance to say no, maybe even expecting him to.

Walt moaned impatiently. “Seriously. Ray. I want this. Like, today, if at all possible.”

Ray laughed. “Ok, ok. Hold your goddamn horses.” He pulled his own clothes off. His cock bobbed heavily between his legs as he crawled onto the bed. He kissed the top of Walt’s ankle, the inside of his knee. He pushed aside the fabric of Walt’s underwear and kissed the crease at the top of his thigh. Ray’s breath was hot as he nosed at Walt’s cock briefly and then kissed his other leg.

“Walt?”

“Yes?” The word came out as a whine, because for crying out loud!

“Do you want fingers or tongue?”

Walt’s cock twitched hard. “Both obviously.”

“Good answer,” Ray said. “Hips up so I can see what I’m working with.” He peeled Walt’s boxers off and dropped them on the floor. Thank God.

Ray’s lips closed around the head of Walt’s cock. Walt jerked, unable to hold back after what seemed like hours of Ray working his way up to this. He hissed with how good the pressure and warmth felt. Ray’s tongue swirled over him and all Walt could do was throw his head back onto the mattress.

“You have a seriously pretty cock, Walt. Is there such a thing as a cock beauty contest? Like with a scholarship as the prize? You’d totally win that shit.”

Walt threw his arm across his face and laughed at the momentary, crazy-ass break from the blowjob. “All I really want is world peace,” he quipped.

“This cock of yours might be the key to it,” Ray mumbled just before sucking him down again.

Walt’s laugh was lost to his groan. Heat started building in his groin. He gritted his teeth as white painted the back of his eyelids.

“Fuck! Slow, Ray, slow, slow. I don’t want to come until your dick is in me.”

Ray popped off and blew cold air across Walt’s damp skin.

Walt sucked air fast through his teeth. “You fucking sadist.”

Ray shrugged. “Helped, didn’t it?”

Maybe it would have. But Walt suddenly wondered if he had a thing for temperature play that he hadn’t known about before now. Because the cold air had the opposite effect if anything. He grabbed handfuls of the sheets.

When he got his breathing under control, Walt asked, “Do you want me face-down?”

“Won’t that bother your shoulder?”

Walt paused. _Fucking Ray_. Walt felt like he might actually die from being in love with him so goddamn much in that one second. He had forgotten about his shoulder, but Ray was right. He always took care of him.

Walt pulled up his knees and offered Ray his hole. Ray licked a long slow stripe up from his tailbone to his balls. This was the first touch like this since before...

Walt tensed involuntarily.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Do some more.”

“Slow like that?”

“Anything,” Walt groaned as he felt Ray’s tongue on him again.

Ray, it turned out, was a wizard. It’s not like Walt should have been surprised. Not with the verbal magic that Ray was always spewing out, smart, funny, articulate, and _fuck_. All of this was washing away the bad and making him just Walt again.

“Do that again,” Walt gasped.

Ray’s laugh puffed against his ass. Then he jabbed the tip of his tongue in deep. God, it felt so fucking good. Wet and warm and _pressure_. It was good because it was Ray and it was good because it was a huge ‘fuck you’ to the men who tried to break him. Ray moved his tongue in and out.

“Can I add a finger? Are you ready?”

“Do it.” Walt already felt open and he wanted so bad for Ray to fill him up. “Side drawer. On the left. No, my left.”

Ray came back with the lube. He straddled Walt’s chest, pushing his dick into Walt’s face as he opened the bottle.

Fuck, yes.

Walt fisted Ray’s cock and licked the head. “Just so you know, I like getting my mouth fucked,” Walt said with a glint in his eye.

Ray trembled and drops of lube landed on Walt’s chest as he tried to slick up his fingers.

“Jesus, Walt, you can’t just say shit like that.”

Walt laughed and sucked the head of Ray’s dick for a long second. His cheeks hollowed and Ray’s pupils went wide.

“You’re the one who came up here,” said Walt.

“Yeah, well, before I come all over your face and can’t fuck you...”

“ _Fine_. You can come on my face another time.”

“I’m gonna remember that offer.” He paused. “I’ll try to be gentle,” he said quietly while scooting back to position himself.

“I’m not gonna break, Ray,” Walt said. “You don’t have to treat me like--”

Ray promptly slid his finger inside Walt’s ass and leaned down to suck on his balls. His rhythm was so slow. And the sheets were gonna be saturated with lube at this rate. Ray kept slathering it on. It was fucking ridiculous treatment for one fucking finger, but there wasn’t any pain. Walt shoved a pillow under his head so he could watch Ray’s dark hair bobbing from between his knees. He wanted to replace every fucked up, blurred memory with this one instead.

“Another one, and harder.”

“Bossy.”

Walt just groaned. Ray’s other hand closed around the shaft of Walt’s cock, not moving. Walt was seriously considering trying to fuck into Ray’s fist, just for a little more friction. But Ray started pressing down on Walt’s pelvis, squeezing the base of his dick and leveraging his fingers in harder. Not faster, but at least a little harder. The pleasure built up at a fucking snail’s pace.

“Come on.” Walt tried to push his hips up.

Ray lubed up again and slid a third in. He halted, letting Walt adjust.

“If you want it so bad, fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Walt gasped. _Oh, fuck, yes._

Walt dropped his knees and planted his feet. He pushed down and down, taking Ray’s fingers up to the second knuckle. Then deeper. The stretch felt so goddamn good. His whole mind was full of the look of awe on Ray’s face, of how open Walt felt, of the itching need to come hard.

“Yeah, like that,” Ray said softly. “Jesus, if you feel this good on my hand...”

“I’m ready,” Walt gasped. It was half an order, half begging. All he knew was that he needed Ray on top of him so bad he could taste it.

Ray nodded, and slid his hand out. He rolled on a condom. “I still can’t believe that you’re letting me fuck you,” Ray said quietly.

Walt leaned up and kissed him with extra tongue. “You’re not fucking me yet,” he taunted.

“Bossy.”

Ray lined up and slowly, agonizingly slowly, slid in. There was no pain, just Ray’s weight pressing down on him, warm and solid.

Ray moaned. “Jesus Christ, Walt. Fuck. It’s been awhile, I guess.” He kept still while they both adjusted. When he moved his hips, it was cautious.

Walt felt like he might implode from the need to have Ray just give it to him. He wanted to take everything. It was proving something... as if taking a hard, balls deep fuck was a gigantic, rainbow-colored fuck you to the trash who’d hurt him.

“It feels good, but--”

“There’s a but?” Ray looked panicked and stopped moving again.

“No! Don’t fucking stop! Come on! Harder! That’s the but.”

“Are you sure--”

“Fuck you! I want you to fuck me, not hold my hand!”

Ray laid over him, chest-to-chest, pressing Walt’s legs wide. “I want to fuck you and hold your hand, so where does that leave us?”

Walt grabbed Ray’s hand, laced their fingers together and put them next to his head. “There. Now fuck me, Ray. Erase all of the...” His breath caught as he thought of the bad shit again.

Ray’s lips were gentle on his. “Ok. Ok.” The first snap of his hips echoed through the apartment. A few seconds later, another one. Ray kissed him gently again, then another snap of his hips.

Walt shoved his free hand between them and jacked himself. “Faster,” he said.

Ray smiled but didn’t call him bossy this time. Walt locked his ankles behind Ray’s back. He pushed a heel into Ray’s butt, urging him on. Ray’s tempo increased until all Walt could feel was the pleasure radiating off of him. His orgasm rolled down upon him like a wave, blinding him, deafening him to everything except Ray’s grunted, “I love you, Walt Hasser.”

****

“Hey. Are you home?”

“No, the library.”

“Will you meet me somewhere?”

“Yeah, sure. Are you ok?”

“Godfather just made me a business proposal. I...” Brad cleared his throat. “I want to run it by you.”

****

“So... listen. About tomorrow night. Just so you know, he’s not exactly an ex, but... so, a guy I hooked up with is going to be there tomorrow night.”

Walt shrugged. “We all have old hook-ups who come to the club.”

“Yeah, well. He’s sort of one of the hosts.”

“Shut the fuck up. You fucked a porn star?”

“Not exactly fucked.”

“What though? Tell me! I mean, shit! A _porn star_ , dude! That's awesome. Was it good?”

****

_ Fourteen months ago _

Ray was kind of shocked actually. Not that he had trouble in that department, but this guy — ginger beard, tattoos, sweet smile, ass given by the gods — was an actual porn star. Like, an ACTUAL porn star that got paid for being good at exactly what he was doing to Ray right now. He’d come down to _Matilda’s_ to guesthost and go-go dance and, apparently, to suck Ray’s brain out of his dick.

Ray never did this kind of thing at work, let alone up in his booth. Say what you will about Ray Person, he has standards and decorum.

Sometimes.

On occasion.

Just not on this _particular_ occasion. Hooking up while he was supposed to be working was not his usual deal. Obviously the music was too important. But when a pro’s mouth is around your dick, all bets are fucking off.

Despite his rapidly decreasing IQ, Ray had enough sense to keep his hands away from the turntables so the music kept playing and covered his embarrassingly loud moans. Right to the beat of the music, this guy was swirling his tongue and bobbing. Fuck, that felt so fucking good. This had to be a dream, right? Public sex with a porn star. Who does that?

Apparently Ray Person does that.

Ok, that’s pretty fucking awesome.

“Shit,” Ray gasped. He laughed and tried to catch his breath before he passed out and missed the good part. “Do that again, whatever you just did.” There was some kind of sucklickteethswirl thing happening on his cock and it made his abs tighten with pleasure.

Redheads were the actual spawn of Satan, just like Ray’s great-grandma had insisted. That was the only explanation for this. He'd never really understood why Nana had said that before, but if this guy stuck out his tongue and it was forked, Ray wouldn't be even a little surprised. He was getting the blowjob of his life and he was obviously selling his soul to the devil for it, had to be.

A finger crept back found his asshole and his hips swung hard, fucking deep into his mouth. Ray knew that he was going to be hard all night watching him gyrate to his music with his sneaky, pink, talented mouth grinning up from the go-go platform. It was too fucking much, the lights flashing and the music pumping. Ray tensed and came into the condom with a strangled groan.

“I guess I needed that,” Ray panted, pulling him up for a kiss.

“Anytime,” he said in his sexy as fuck little accent. He gave Ray a little half smile and went out to dance. ”Call me,” he mouthed.

****

“He wasn’t you though,” Ray said quietly.

“I wasn’t even at _Matilda’s_ yet.”

Ray shrugged. “Still. I wouldn’t even have called him ‘cept the benefit show was... you know. For you.”

Walt rode the fuck out of Ray after that.

* * *

 _Tuesday, Halloween_  
  
Pappy stood in the dressing room bathroom, futzing with his lab coat.  
  
“Let me take care of you,” Rudy said, walking over and smoothing down the collar. He ran his fingers though Pappy's hair, making it stand on end and look more mad scientist and less Florida math teacher of the year.  
  
They kissed, and it made Nate smile. If anyone could pull off a couple’s costume without having it be tacky, it was Rudy and Pappy as Dr. Frankenstein and his monster. Pappy whispered something in Rudy's ear, rubbing his thumb across one of Rudy's bare nipples. After that, Nate looked away, because he of all people knew that privacy was at a premium in this place.  
  
Nate readjusted the strips of white cloth that wrapped sparingly around him from ankle to the crown of his head. Doc and his goddamn sense of humor.  
  
“Undead looks good on you,” Brad’s voice came against Nate’s neck.  
  
He turned and took in Brad’s get-up. A black tank top that showed off his shoulders, tight black jeans, and a long, curving fang on a silver necklace. His face was powdered to make him look like death. Red eyeliner rimmed his lower lids.  
  
“You too, apparently,” Nate replied.  
  
“Doc implied I should wear these.” Brad pulled a set of fangs from his pocket. “And I implied he could go fuck himself.”  
  
Nate chuckled. No one was going to leave diplomacy to Brad, though Nate loved Brad’s no bullshit style. He always got things done, and competence was an acknowledged turn-on of Nate’s. Gunny had even commented on it after he’d come by  _Matilda’s_  a few nights in a row, how efficiently Brad ran this place. Not that Gunny had been here to see Brad.  
  
"How did he take your advice?"  
  
"About like usual. Blew me a kiss and grabbed his junk."  
  
"So you told him off, then he hit on you?"  
  
Brad’s lower lip came out slightly, appraisingly, as he nodded. Nate seriously considered leaning in to nip at it, but Doc had already yelled at several people for messing up his handiwork. Plus, there was time for that later.  
  
"That is a concise summary, yes."  
  
"Just so you know,” Nate slid his hand down Brad’s body until he was cupping Brad’s dick through his pants. Brad’s eyebrow crept up his forehead at approximately the same pace. “I’d prefer if I was the only one that was doing the grabbing.”  
  
“Noted.” Brad swatted Nate’s ass and jogged out front through the growing cloud from the fog machine.  
  
Nate turned back to the mirror. He absently readjusted some more, but mostly he was parsing the news that Brad had given him last night.  
  
****  
  
“Bro, how come he gets to be a vampire? I wanted to be a vampire,” Lilley whined.  
  
“You’re a werewolf.”  
  
“I know but--”  
  
Doc flicked Lilley off and went to berate Q-Tip about his swamp monster costume. “I told you. No fucking do-rag! Take it off. And, fucking fuck the fuck  _off_ , Chrissy. Get your goddamn lipsticked face off of him! Save your lovebird bullshit for sometime where it doesn’t interfere with my motherfucking work.”  
  
****  
  
Walt gripped Ray’s hand when they walked into the alley. He made Ray take him in that way even though Ray obviously thought it was a fucking retarded idea and said so. But this was one more step that Walt knew he had to take, and he sure as shit wanted to take it with Ray. All of the rest of the steps so far had been with Ray. No reason to start changing that now, considering that he’d gotten through everything else. Pretty clearly that was because of Ray.  
  
Walking into the alley wasn’t as bad as he'd been fearing it’d be. The alley walls didn’t feel like they were closing in. There weren’t any flashbacks. His shoulder didn’t even twinge. The daylight probably helped, and it definitely fucking helped that the guys that jumped him were all in jail right now. Walt squinted, trying to see any evidence of what had happened. It was sick, really, how much he kind of wanted to see something. Blood, maybe. It’d make it more real, although fuck if he knew why he’d want to recreate that in his mind. Maybe because this was his war wound and being here, seeing something or maybe even seeing nothing, was some kind of ass-backward therapy.  
  
Mostly Walt thought about Ray as they stood there hand-in-hand next to the dumpster. Kind of like how people picture the audience in their skivvies so they’re less nervous, Walt was picturing Ray with a red mask and cape, swooping in to save the day complete with a jaunty little theme song, probably remixed.  
  
“Are you ok? Laughing... isn’t what I expected, homes. This isn’t some kind of mental break or--”  
  
“Yeah, no. What? I’m not going crazy, Ray. I’m fine thanks to you. I’m not gonna, like, hang out here and have a picnic, but I’m ok. Come on, let’s go inside and meet your porn star.”  
  
“Hey now. He’s not  _my_  porn star.”  
  
“It wasn’t  _my_  dick in his mouth.”  
  
“How about we arrange for  _your_  dick in  _my_  mouth?”  
  
Walt snorted. It was pretty fucking  _beyond_  fucked up to joke about that here of all places, but it was also pretty much perfect because Ray kept making things feel normal. Walt unlocked the door with Ray kissing the top of his shoulder.  
  
“Hey!” “Walt! Dude!” “Hey, guys, Walt’s here!” “So good to see you, man.”  
  
Everyone was absolutely beaming when he came into the dressing room, ready with lots of hugs. There was a  _Welcome Back, Walt_  banner hung up over the door out to the floor. The best part was that no one let Walt wallow. He was glad for that. Doc immediately walked over and handed him his costume (a pair of fangs, ‘cause all the bartenders were vampires tonight) and a rare smile. Trombley handed him the stockroom clipboard with a “hey, I’m James, this is yours” and a nervous look. Sixta looked him over and nodded approvingly. And then Brad swatted him with a bar towel.  
  
This was turning out alright.  
  
****  
  
“Nervous?”  
  
Trombley looked up from lacing his boots. Sixta was looking him over.  
  
Trombley shrugged. “You know.” He was debuting tonight. This was a huge deal, and he didn’t want to fuck it up in front of every guy in Miami worth fucking.  
  
Sixta grunted quietly. “Stands yerself up then, and let me look atcha.”  
  
Doc had put Trombley in a torn pair of cut-off jeans that barely covered his ass and a shirt riddled with holes. Sixta started to reach over, but halted his hand halfway and dropped it to his side.  
  
“Fix that makeup. You looks like a skull-fucked clown with that shit on yer mouth.”  
  
“It’s supposed to be, you know, like blood and brains or whatever.”  
  
“Well, this is still  _Matilda’s_ , boy. The zombies even gots to look fuckable. Go fix yer face.”  
  
Trombley went into the bathroom. He saw Sixta still looking at him in the mirror. Sixta just shook his head, looking surprised and confused before he walked off.  
  
****  
  
Walt was moving well behind the bar, but he was having trouble getting much done because the regulars kept wanting to say hi after his hiatus. Walt was super glad that Godfather hadn’t put Walt at the center of tonight’s fundraiser, even though people pretty much knew this was in response to the attack. That woulda been... well, just not what he wanted. The spotlight wasn’t really Walt’s thing. He just liked doing his job here behind the bar, getting people what they needed, taking their smiles in response. He glanced up at Ray, who was holding his headphones up to one ear and bopping to the music, doing his own thing to make everyone smile.  
  
“Hey.” Brad jerked his head up toward the DJ booth while he mixed a drink. “You guys good?”  
  
“Yep. Why?”  
  
“You both look well-fucked.”  
  
Walt snapped him with the towel. “Says the guy who fell in love at first sight.”  
  
Brad looked shocked for a split second, like it’d actually never occurred to him. Leave it to Brad to be that emotionally stunted that he couldn’t recognize being rolled over by that particular green-eyed tank. He looked up at Nate, who happened to be dancing with Ray’s porn star right now (which should be illegal, but Walt was glad it wasn’t because  _holy fucking shit_ ). Brad finished mixing the drink and took another order. He never responded to Walt. Walt knew that was because he was right.  
  
****  
  
Trombley was trying to look everywhere at once from his spot above the crowd. Dudes were totally making out right below him. Nate was dancing with the redhead like they were gonna strip down and fuck right in front of everyone. (Which is weird, because James thought Brad had a thing with Nate.) And he felt like everyone’s eyes were on him. He had something to prove up here so they didn’t shitcan him on his first night.  
  
“Hey, cutie. Can we dance with you?”  
  
Trombley stopped where he stood on his little stage and just stared. For a good second he was completely unable to figure out what was happening here. Best he could tell, two porn stars were asking if they could go-go with him. On his first night.  
  
It’s not like he was gonna say no. I mean, he’d seen these two in action. No one would say no to this unless they were fucking stupid. And that’s how a set of huge hands found his hips, and another set looped around his neck. Groin-to-groin-to-groin. Trombley wondered if it was ok to pop wood while he was dancing. Could zombies get boners? Probably didn’t matter since Sixta had just said to look fuckable. Being up here with a heavily tattooed twink and his bear would definitely qualify as that, right? He wondered if Sixta was watching and if this was gonna pass muster with him.  
  
Fuck, he loved working here.  
  
****  
  
Ray flicked the brim of his cowboy hat. Or Walt’s cowboy hat, actually. Walt’d had this idea that Ray should dress up like fucking Howdy Doody or some shit, and Ray was so stupid in love with him that he’d agreed to it. He should have found some assless chaps though.  
  
He wrapped up his set and queued up the  _Bravo_  girls’ tunes. Chrissy and T’na had this whole number worked out with the house go-go’s doing their things on the side. It was pretty sweet. Not as sweet as watching Walt back in the swing of things though. I mean, how the fuck was Ray supposed to not squirm when he looked at him laughing -- and fucking  _flirting_  -- his way down the bar like nothing had ever happened.  
  
He checked his set-up, checked the stage, and then ran down to the bar. He had enough time. Mattis was gonna do her thing before he had to be paying close attention again. And if he ended up missing a cue, fuck it. Walt was fucking worth it.  
  
****  
  
“Happy Halloween, everyone!”  
  
The crowd went apeshit at Godfather’s welcome. It looked to Brad like a couple guys up at the front might pass out. He fucking hoped not. Not that he’d blame them. He’d seen the centerfolds too. And now Godfather was up there in a tuxedo, doing his best Frank Sinatra impression. Mattis was a lucky queen.  
  
The house was packed with celebrities tonight, on-stage and off. This might have been the best draw  _Matilda’s_  had ever had. Fucking amazing, considering they’d pulled it together with boot laces and baby wipes at the eleventh hour. And despite the fact that Walt was working like he always did, efficiently and with a smile that would blind the sun, everyone knew this was all for him. To try to salvage something good out of something epically horrible. Even if they weren’t saying it out loud, this was  _Matilda’s_  attempt to apologize for not having their brother’s back.  
  
“Godfather would like to say a great big thank you to our guest hosts.”  
  
Three guys, wearing nothing more than jockstraps and tats, waved from the balcony. The crowd roared again.  
  
Brad looked over at Nate. He was at the edge of the stage, standing at the periphery of Godfather’s spotlight, looking supremely fuckable like usual. He didn’t have the redhead hanging off of him anymore, thank fuck. In any other circumstance, it would have been hot to see someone who looked like Nate dancing with a porn star. But this was Nate Fick, and Brad was feeling territorial.  
  
Nate looked over to the bar, apparently adding telepathy to his considerable list of skills. The corner of his mouth was curved up. That was the same face he’d been wearing this morning when Brad woke up. Who the hell knew how long Nate had been staring at him while he slept, but it wasn’t like Brad hadn’t done the same thing to him before.  
  
Godfather’s surprise suggestion that Brad buy the club from him had thrown Brad for a loop. Obviously his first response had been related to money. In particular, his decided lack of the hundreds of thousands of dollars required for a downpayment on a choice piece of real estate like  _Matilda’s_. It immediately became apparent that this wasn’t a whim when Godfather slid a stack of paperwork across the dinner table, laying out a transition strategy. A month ago, Brad would have immediately taken this. But now there was Nate. How was this going to work if Brad took over the club? Nate was only a go-go to pay for school; it was obvious that he was destined for something after  _Matilda’s_. The northeast had come up a few times in their late night, post-coital conversations, and that was a motherfucking long way from Miami.  
  
Brad didn’t want his first thought to be about Nate; he was used to being alone, doing things alone. But Brad also wanted exactly that. He knew he was  _tired_  of being alone. He’d come to that decision less than a day before Nate showed up.  
  
“And a huge thanks to you for contributing to  _Matilda’s Halloween Charity Ball_. The men of  _Matilda’s_  pulled this together faster than Godfather thought possible, and Godfather would like to extend a special thank you to them for their exceptional work.” Another huge cheer went up. “Now, gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce our next performer, a person very special to me, Jenn R. L. Mattis and her flyboys!”  
  
Godfather jogged to the side of the stage and held out his hand to Jenn. He escorted her into the spotlight. She was dressed to the nines: wig up to the rafters, satin gloves, and fake tits that would make Dolly jealous. She gave Godfather the gentlest kiss on the lips, brushing off the little bit of lipstick and giving him a heartfelt smile. Brad looked at Nate again, just for a second. He didn’t let the reason for the look solidify into words in his mind. He didn’t need to. He’d called Nate last night after Godfather had made that offer, not Patterson, who would have been the logical source of advice.  
  
Now, Nate was winking at him. God-fucking-damn that dangerous, perfect green-eyed fucker. He made Brad into a preteen girl who just saw her favorite boyband at the mall. And fuck Walt Hasser, the perceptive fucker, because he’d been right. So, Brad winked back and promised himself that he’d fuck at least two orgasms out of Nate later. Or vice versa.  
  
“This one goes out to the love of my life,” Jenn said, blowing a kiss to Godfather as he backed to the side of the stage, never taking his eyes off of her. The crowd cheered.  
  
At the end of the bar, Ray was tapping the screen of his phone, controlling his set-up remotely, something he’d worked out during his relatively sleepless nights after Walt’s attack. Walt was snuggled up against Ray’s chest, watching his fingers work. Brad hoped that he never got caught making the heart-eyed expression that was on Walt’s face right now. Of course, then he couldn’t help his eyes flicking to Nate’s position again even though he was too far into the shadows for Brad to see more than his outline. He would deny his little smile if anyone was moronic enough to ask about it.  
  
****  
  
A spotlight followed Jenn as she [performed](http://youtu.be/jggh5bQAJaY), lashes fluttering, lips in a little girl pout, eyes only for Godfather. A line of dancers with feathered fans covered her, and then uncovered her like a striptease.

_If I invite a boy some night  
To dine on my fine finnan haddie  
I just adore his asking for more  
But my heart belongs to Daddy_

She almost lost the lyrics when Godfather smiled. His happy surprise at her song choice showed. She’d sung this on the night they’d first met.

_Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy  
So I simply couldn’t be bad  
Yes, my heart belongs to Daddy_

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be for people. The flames of new love were supposed to cool into something comfortable with the years. But the pull of it, wanting nothing more than to touch him, kept rekindling. Tonight was one of those nights where Jenn felt like she was singing for only Stephen.

_So I want to warn you, laddie  
Though I know you’re perfectly swell  
That my heart belongs to Daddy  
‘cause my Daddy, he treats it so well_

Godfather blew her a kiss as she sang the last note, the corners of his eyes scrunched up with a smile. She found herself blushing as she turned to take her bow. This many years and Stephen could still make her blush. It was silly how in love she was with him.  
  
The cheers went on for minutes, washing over her. She bowed again and again. She blew kisses to the crowd, and she wondered if she could ever really give this up to retire.  
  
Godfather’s hand found her waist. “You are perfect,” his rasping whisper came against her cheek. He gently tugged the microphone from her hand. “You know I love you more than anything,” he said into it.  
  
“I love you, too,” she mouthed.  
  
He lowered himself to one knee to the sound of the whole club gasping, then whistling. He gazed up at her with shining eyes. “That is why, James Mattis, I am asking you to marry me.”  
  
For a moment, Jenn couldn’t believe what was happening. Here? Of all places? Godfather produced a ring box from his pocket. She gasped a soft "oh," and her hand fluttered in front of her lips. He held the ring up to her. The stones glinted in the spotlight.  
  
"Please say yes. People are watching us," he whispered into the microphone, inclining his head at the audience.  
  
Jenn laughed and threw her arms around his neck as he stood. "Yes!"  
  
The crowd exploded with cheering and applause. Her mascara didn’t stand a chance.

* * *

 _December, a few days before Christmas_  
  
“Did I ever tell you I have this idea for a bar?”  
  
Patterson, Walt, and Ray were sitting on a hard, wooden bench in the hallway of the courthouse. The verdict in Walt’s trial was due any minute, and Ray was fucking nervous. Walt looked even worse. He’d chewed off all the fingernails on one hand, so Ray launched into this story.  
  
“Yeah, it’s gonna be awesome. Patterson, you’re kinky as shit. You can give me your professional opinion.”  
  
Patterson didn’t respond.  
  
“It’s going to be called  _The Golden Stream_ \--”  
  
Patterson held up his hand. “Ray, I can already tell where you’re going with this--”  
  
“Just hear me out. Seriously, this is a great fucking idea. I’m gonna have there be this two-way mirror that everybody pisses against when they’re in the john. Like, right behind the bar. That way, there's all these big fucking giant shlongs just pissing right at you.”  
  
Walt took his head out of his hands to look at Ray. The pause in conversation (ok, it was more monologue than conversation) dragged on for several seconds before Walt burst into laughter so hard that tears flowed down his cheeks. He was still hiccuping when the bailiff called them back into the courtroom. Ray figured that was the best he could hope for.  
  
****  
  
The guys milled around Godfather's pool while they waited for Walt, Ray, and Patterson to get back from the courthouse. Walt had asked them to stay away. He didn't want any of the rest of them to have to hear all of that.  
  
"He'll be fine," Nate said quietly when he handed Brad a beer, his fingers lingering over Brad’s.  
  
Brad nodded tersely. The truth embedded in Nate’s words was that  _Matilda’s_  men had each other’s backs. They’d failed Walt once. There was no way they would do it again.  
  
Around them, the others were having similar conversations. The guys were all a little twitchy, still thinking that some mob justice might work if the jury didn't convict Walt's attackers. Sixta was trying to smooth things over with a watermelon he’d hauled in and sliced up. Even he wasn’t stirring the pot tonight with his usual act.  
  
Brad's phone buzzed. He read the screen and then whistled sharply.  
  
"Guilty on all charges!"  
  
****  
  
Godfather stood on the hearth of the outdoor fireplace -- like a beardless, gay Saint Nick -- whistling shrilly to get everyone's attention away from the celebration. Since Walt arrived from downtown, things had devolved into something resembling a fraternity kegger with Santa hats.  
  
"Walt, we all are grateful for the verdict today. We're truly grateful that you have healed so quickly."  
  
Walt leaned over and kissed Ray's cheek. “Thanks everyone,” he said to the group.  
  
Godfather squeezed Mattis' hand before giving Brad a meaningful look. "And now for another happy announcement: Godfather is taking his blushing bride here to San Francisco. We’re retiring."  
  
Brad had only told Nate and Patterson (and, by extension, Doc). There were too many details to wrestle into submission, not least of which how to negotiate Nate’s eventual graduation and the fact that Brad had no intention of letting him out of his sights.  
  
Taking the focus off of Walt’s trial hadn’t been an option. Consequently, no one else had a clue that this was coming. A round of surprised questions filled the back yard. "What?" "What's gonna happen to  _Matilda's_?" "Seriously?"  
  
Godfather held up his hands. "Brad is taking over. Permanently."  
  
Every head in the place turned to look at Brad. Ray was the one that piped up first.  
  
“You’re gonna run a gay club of your very own? That’s  _my_  fucking dream!”

* * *

 _August_  
  
“Mail call!” Walt pounded on Brad and Nate’s apartment door and yelled with a sing-song voice. “Open up!”  
  
Nate opened the door a second later and promptly was tackled by Ray and Walt.  
  
“We brought a copy of the wedding video, because I don’t know about the rest of you, but I definitely need to see Bradley here making an ass of himself again,” Ray said, waving a shipping envelope. The leather cuffs on his wrists -- and their meaning -- were obvious.  
  
Brad rounded the corner, toweling off his hair and rolling his eyes. “You came all the way up here to annoy me. Fantastic.”  
  
“We’re just here to visit Mr. Senator-in-training. It’s not our fault you are surgically attached to him at the dick.”  
  
“Everyone sends their hellos,” Walt said, putting a hand over Ray’s mouth. “Let’s try to not get kicked out in the first five minutes, baby,” he mumbled to Ray.  
  
Nate took the DVD from Ray and quietly slipped it into his laptop. “We’ve only been gone three weeks. And I know you’ve been holding your own down there.”  
  
“Gunny told you?”  
  
Nate smiled and shrugged.  
  
“Surprised he has any idea what’s happening at the club. Mostly he’s got his nose buried in Kocher’s nutsack,” Ray replied.  
  
Nate took that moment to queue up the scene from Godfather and Mattis’ wedding reception that Ray had been referring to. Although he’d bite his tongue for now, Ray was correct about this being an entertaining watch. Nate just happened to know that this was not out of character for Brad behind closed doors. What was out of character was for him to get caught.  
  
 _The image slowly panned across the dance floor. Godfather and Mattis, dancing with their foreheads together. Ray and Walt acting like kids, jitterbugging to their own time signature and laughing hysterically. Doc watching on, one leg draped over Patterson’s knee; Patterson’s hand high on his thigh.  
  
“Dawg, no one cares about this dancing bullshit. You gotta find something good. Like, take for example, the fucked up mating rituals of white dudes happening over in the corner.”  
  
Poke’s finger came into the frame, pointing across the reception, and Lilley turned the camera.  
  
“You gotta go over there and tape the Iceman doing his best Romeo and Juliet impression. Now that shit would sell.”  
  
The scene was shaky, due to Lilley sneaking up behind Brad with the camera as he and Nate talked quietly at their table. Brad reached over and loosened Nate’s bowtie, stroking a finger across the hollow of Nate’s neck tenderly.  
  
“I want to move to New York with you, Nate.”  
  
“Brad--”  
  
“I can’t fucking stand the idea of never seeing you. I’m moving back. Fuck the bad memories. We’ll make new ones.”  
  
“Brad--” Nate’s eyes flicked to the camera. Brad hadn’t noticed Lilley, amazingly.  
  
“I’ll run Devil Dogs. The guys can take over Matilda’s. We can find a place near campus. Say yes.” And then, barely audible on the video, “I love you.”  
  
Nate cupped Brad’s cheek with his hand and held him tenderly for a long second. Then he turned Brad’s head to face Lilley’s camera.  
  
“Yes, Brad. I accept your proposal. And I love you too.” _ He kissed Brad’s earlobe on the video and, now, in their kitchen to the sound of snorted laughter.  
  
 _“Sappy motherfuckers,” said Doc offscreen before Brad’s huge hand didn’t quite obscure the kiss he laid on Nate’s lips._

**Author's Note:**

> What started as an excuse to write Nate as a go-go dancer, turned into an epic focus on three couples: Brad and Nate, Ray and Walt, and Doc and Patterson. I fell in love with Ray and Walt while I wrote this, and I nearly broke myself for a while after the middle few chapters. Doc and Patterson are my foray into D/s and fairly serious kink, but above all else they are the stable, committed role models to everyone else. Even if they only appeared in the football scene together in canon, I love their dynamic. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading, particularly if you stuck with me through the last 15 months. It took me ages to get this out, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did in the end!
> 
> Edit: I've decided to untag Mattis in this fic as of August 9, 2017.


End file.
